Farsighted
by Freelancer
Summary: Early First Age. It’s going to take a lot more than being crippled to stop Celeborn from winning Galadriel’s heart or helping to save Doriath from a traitor. Ch. 13: Uncómien smells a conspiracy and Celeborn makes a move
1. Doriath

DISCLAIMER: Alas, I own nothing… otherwise there would be no reason for me to be writing fan fiction, would there?

~~ Chapter One: Doriath ~~

            "The fastest way to Menegroth is by boat," Valendil, captain of Doriath's border patrol, told the five Noldorin visitors as he led them down to the banks of the Esgalduin river.  "Galathil, Irisun, and Lieutenant Uncómien will accompany you there.  Whether the king will accept you or turn you away, I do not know."

            Finrod, the leader of the small group, nodded in understanding,  "We thank you, Captain Valendil," the golden-haired Elf lord said.  Then, as a precaution, he added, "We are not spies."

            Valendil had been considering that possibility, but hearing Finrod voice his thoughts surprised him.  He didn't like being surprised.  "I did not say you were spies," Valendil said defensively.

            "I know," Finrod said, "but you were thinking it."

            "We are kinsmen of King Thingol," said Finrod's younger brother, Orodreth.  "Our grandfather Olwë is his brother.  What reason would we have to rise against him?"

            "These are dangerous times, brother," Finrod said.  "The captain is merely taking the necessary precautions."

            Valendil didn't like being patronized, either.  What annoyed him even more was that he knew Finrod intended neither.  He looked away from Finrod so the Noldrin Elf wouldn't see the irritation in his eyes.  His attention rested briefly on Orodreth, but then passed on to the other three Noldor; Finrod's two youngest brothers, Angrod and Aegnor, and the youngest, a fair maid called Artanis.  Artanis felt Valendil's eyes on her, and she glanced over at him.  The two stared each other down for a few moments, and then Valendil looked away, unable to endure her gaze for long.

            "Oh, lighten up, Vallie," came the cheerful voice of another Elf, the fair-haired Uncómien, second in command after Valendil.  He smiled and clapped his hand on his captain's shoulder.  "The queen already let them through, didn't she?"  He turned his smiling face toward the Noldor.  "Don't mind him," he said.  "He means well."

            Valendil glared at Uncómien and pushed his soldier's hand off his shoulder.  Uncómien's cheerfulness was annoying, and besides, he hated being called Vallie.  "Be gone with you," he said.  "Take them to the boats."

            Two more Elves stepped out from the ranks of the border patrol; one with black hair and one with auburn.  Valendil joined the remainder of them, and they dissipated into the forest called Region.  "The boats are not far, Lord Finrod," the black-haired Elf said.  "This way."

            "What is your name, friend?" Finrod asked as he, his brothers and sister, and the other two Elves of Doriath fell into stride behind him.

            "I am Irisun, son of Elecon," he answered.  He nodded toward Uncómien and the auburn-haired Elf.  "This is Galathil and Lieutenant Uncómien, both sons of Galadhon."

            The ever-pleasant Uncómien smiled broadly at them.  Galathil smiled, too, but his was nowhere near as broad as his brother's.  Finrod noticed that, and he faltered for a moment, as if he wasn't sure Galathil trusted them.

            Uncómien's smile turned from outgoing to comforting.  "It's all right," he assured Finrod.  "Galathil is just not as… gregarious as I am."

            "'Gregarious'?" Irisun repeated, and chuckled.  "You mean loud."

            Uncómien let out a warm laugh.  "All right, loud."

            Galathil's smile grew more comfortable.  "It seems to be a trait in our family," he explained to the Noldor.  "Galadhon's sons become more receptive to strangers as they get younger."

            "How many of you are there?" asked Artanis.

            "Three," Uncómien answered.  "Celeborn, our oldest brother, is not a member of the militia.  He was for a time – the captain, actually – but had to leave our numbers."

            "Why is that?" inquired Aegnor.

            They never found out, as they arrived at the boats just as Aegnor was finishing his question.  "In we go," Irisun said, motioning to the two boats floating in the water.  They were tied to a tree on the river's bank.  "I'll take one; Galathil, Uncómien, you take the other."

            Finrod, Artanis, and Angrod got in the boat with Irisun.  Galathil stepped into the other, and Orodreth and Aegnor joined him.  Uncómien remained on the shore, and when everyone was seated, untied the ropes, then placed his foot on the bow of Irisun's boat and gave it a gentle push.  It moved away from the shore, and then Uncómien jumped into the other boat, colliding with Galathil.  The boat rocked back and forth with the sudden movement and nearly tipped over.  Orodreth and Aegnor seized the sides of it and braced themselves, but to their relief, their vessel did not capsize.

            Irisun, Finrod, Artanis, and Angrod all laughed heartily.  "I think the sons of Finarfin are regretting their decision to ride in that boat, Uncómien!" Irisun called.

            "And I have not even started yet," Uncómien said to his passengers.  Then he picked up an oar and winked.

            In their boat, Irisun, Finrod, and Angrod all took oars as well.  Artanis reached for one, but Irisun stopped her.  "The lady need not row," he said.

            Artanis arched a golden eyebrow.  "Oh, no?" she said.  "We will arrive faster if I do.  I assure you that I am as strong as any of your men."

            "Stronger," mumbled Angrod, remembering an incident in their youth in which he and his brothers walked away with bruises after finding out just how strong their sister was.  Artanis and Finrod chuckled.

            "_Ai, Iri!" Uncómien shouted.  "Race you to Menegroth?"_

            Artanis picked up an oar and grinned.  "What say you now, Irisun?"

            Irisun merely smiled.

            "We will see you in Menegroth, Uncómien!" Finrod called, dipping his oar into the water.

            "Ha!" Uncómien said.  "You wish!"

            Finrod got his wish.  His boat was a good two hundred feet ahead of Uncómien's when they arrived at the dock constructed along the side of a cliff some three hours later.  Carved into the massive cliff above the was Menegroth, the Thousand Caves, capital of Doriath.  A long, steep staircase etched into the stone rose from the dock to the city.  Finrod gazed up at Menegroth in wonder.  Never had he seen anything like this.  It was nothing short of amazing.

            "Unfair advantage," Uncómien said when his boat pulled up to the dock.  He tossed his fair head toward Artanis.  "You had her."

            Artanis laughed.  "How does that generate an advantage, Lieutenant?"

            "The river always moves swifter for its most beautiful voyagers," Uncómien replied.

            "No wonder you were going so slow," Irisun said with a laugh.

            Uncómien pointed his finger at Irisun and said, "I would push you into this river if I did not know you were talking about Galathil."

            Galathil was caught completely off-guard.  "Now wait just a moment!" he exclaimed when he realized what his younger brother had said.

            Uncómien looked at the Noldor and smiled.  "Welcome to Doriath.  I hope you enjoy your time here."

            Finrod grinned.  "I'm sure we will."

            "Come," said Irisun, moving toward the stairs.  "We will take you to the king."

            It took them most of half an hour to reach the audience chamber of King Elu Thingol, located near the top of the massive cliff.  Normally, it would not have taken them that long, but they were stopped every few feet by Finrod, who was fascinated by the architecture and kept asking questions.  After they were introduced, Finrod apologized for their tardiness to the king when they finally arrived, explaining that Menegroth was unlike anything he'd ever seen before, and the sight of it was too amazing to overlook.

            Thingol smiled at Finrod, rose up from his throne, and joined the five Noldor and three soldiers.  "Often have people told me of their interest in my city's structure, but never quite so passionately as you, son of Finarfin.  The Dwarves are excellent craftsmen, are they not?"

            "'Excellent' hardly does them justice," Finrod replied, gazing upward at the intricately carved ceiling above his head.  "Not even the fair cities of Valinor can equal Menegroth."

            "Then I must show you around at some point during your stay," Thingol said.  "How long did you plan on remaining here?"

            "As long as you keep us, Highness, or until we can regroup with the rest of our people; whichever comes first," Finrod answered.  "The Noldor are scattered throughout Beleriand, seeking refuge from Morgoth and Sauron.  Our numbers are few, and those that remain have grown weary."

            Thingol placed his hand on Finrod's shoulder.  "You will always be welcome in Doriath, children of Finarfin."  His hand dropped, and he looked at the others.  "You must be weary," he said.  "I will allow you a few hours rest, and then extend an invitation to dinner tonight.  You are all welcome to come if you so desire."

            "Thank you," said Orodreth.  "We will be there."

            "Would you like us to show them to some rooms, Highness?" Uncómien asked.

            Thingol looked confused.  "We have attendants for things like that, Uncómien… besides, shouldn't the three of you get back to Valendil and the others?"

            "They'll be fine without us for a few more hours," Uncómien said dismissively.  "No sign of danger from outside has been spotted for weeks, and the interior has never given us trouble."

            "The interior?" Aegnor asked.

            "Wild animals, mostly," Irisun explained.  "We've got a large population of wolves, and sometimes they can get out of hand."

            "Very well," Thingol said.  "If you really want to, then I suppose you can show our guests to some rooms.  Finrod?"

            "Yes?" Finrod said.

            "Would you like me to show you around the city now?"

            "Yes!" Finrod exclaimed, displaying more excitement than he intended to.  He smiled sheepishly, then said less exuberantly, "Yes, I would like that very much."

            "Would anyone else care to join us?" Thingol offered.

            No one else said anything, and then Artanis spoke for them all.  "Thank you, but we are very tired, and would like to rest for a while."

            "Understandable," said Thingol.  "Oh, and Artanis, my wife and daughter are studying at the moment, but they should be done soon.  I know they will want to meet all of you, but especially you."

            Artanis nodded.  "Thank you.  I will be ready if they call on me."

            Irisun elected to go back to his duties as a soldier, but Uncómien and Galathil remained in Menegroth with the Noldor, with whom they were becoming fast friends.  They were tired, though, so soldiers took them to the area of the palace where bedchambers were located, and then assigned empty rooms with promises to see each other later that night.

"Aegnor, Angrod, we'll put you two in here," Galathil said, showing them to a room.  "Orodreth, you and Finrod will be in the room across the hall.  Artanis, we'll put you down there, in the room next to Princess Lúthien's."

            "Follow me," Uncómien said, leading Artanis down the hall.  They passed three doors, then stopped at the fourth.  "Here we are," he said, opening the door.  "You should find everything you need, and if not, someone will aid you."

            Artanis stepped inside the large guestroom.  It had every amenity one could wish for, including the one thing she wanted most: a bed.  "Thank you, Lieutenant," she said.  "I'm sure I will be fine."

            "You need not call me Lieutenant," he replied.  "Uncómien will do."

            She smiled at him.  "If you insist.  Forgive me, Uncómien, but you are still rather young, are you not?"

            "Seventy-five," Uncómien said with a grin.  "Barely walking."

            "And yet you are the militia's lieutenant."

            He chuckled.  "Oh, that's nothing.  My brother has me beat; he was captain at age thirty-two…"

            "Galathil?" Artanis asked.

            "No, Celeborn," he said.  "He was the captain for over forty years… then…"  His cheerful expression darkened.  "… terrible accident…"

            "What happened?"

            Uncómien sighed.  "I… I would rather not talk about it."

"I understand."

"Thank you," he said.  "Will you be coming to dinner tonight?"

            She nodded.  "Yes, I had planned on it."

            "I shall look forward to seeing you," he said, and smiled at her.  "Until then, Artanis."

            "Good-bye, Uncómien."

            The lieutenant's words echoed in Artanis's ears as she moved toward the bed.  What could have happened?  Perhaps she would meet this Celeborn later.  Then she would find out.  For now, though, her priority was to rest.


	2. Dinner

~~ Chapter Two: Dinner ~~

And rest she did. Artanis slept for nearly two hours before she was awoken by a knock on the door. "Come in," she said, and slowly got to her feet. She rubbed her eyes, then ran her hands over her radiant golden hair to smooth it down. She doubted that sleeping had done anything more than put a few strands out of place, but it wouldn't hurt to make sure. Her hair was the greatest of all her fine features, and she took great pride in it.

The door opened, and in came a dark-haired Elf woman with sparkling gray eyes. Her face was kind and beautiful beyond words. Artanis guessed that this was Princess Lúthien, Thingol's daughter, for the beauty of Lúthien was legendary, and Artanis had never seen someone so fair in all her days.

"You must be Lady Artanis," she said. "I am Lúthien. Welcome to Menegroth."

So she was right. "Thank you, Princess," Artanis said. "You have a fine city."

"Please, call me Lúthien," said Lúthien. "I'm glad you like Menegroth. Will you be staying long?"

"I know not," Artanis replied. "Either as long as we can, or as long as it takes."

"My father will let you stay as long as you need," Lúthien said. "Let your mind be free of such worries."

Artanis sighed. "Many things lay on my heart, Lúthien."

Lúthien walked over to Artanis and laid her hand on her shoulder. "Now is not the time to dwell on them," she said. "The enchantments of this land can ease your suffering if you allow them. My heart tells me that you will find joy here."

Artanis managed a smile. "Thank you."

"My mother should be here soon," Lúthien said, glancing back toward the door. "She is meeting your brothers. I wanted to meet you first because… because I was hoping we could become friends."

_Friends_. Artanis felt her heart jump at those words. She'd only ever had one close female friend, the Vanya Amarië, whom her brother Finrod loved, but Amarië would not leave Valinor with them. The idea of becoming friends with Lúthien appealed to her, and a smile crept across her face. "I would like a friend," Artanis said, "and I would be honored for that friend to be you."

Lúthien beamed. "Oh, Artanis, I'm so excited. When my father told me that there was a woman among the visiting Noldor, I could have started dancing. Seldom do we get visitors, and even less seldom are the visitors women."

"Are there not women in the country whom you could befriend?" Artanis asked.

Lúthien's expression darkened for a moment. "My father does not like me to leave Menegroth," she said. "The women I _do_ see are not interested in befriending a princess."

Artanis couldn't help noticing the spite in Lúthien's voice. "You dislike being royalty," she observed.

"Your _name_ means 'Noble Woman,' Artanis," Lúthien said. "Surely you know how it feels. To be so powerful… and so alone…"

Artanis's heart went out to Lúthien. Beneath her titles and heritage, she was just another person, and she was lonely. Artanis always had her brothers to keep her company, but Lúthien was an only child. No doubt she grew lonesome from time to time. "Worry no more, Lúthien," Artanis said. "You will always have a friend in me."

Lúthien's smile grew wider than ever. "Thank you."

At that moment, they were joined by Melian, Lúthien's Maia mother. "You must be Artanis," Melian said. "I am Melian, Queen of Doriath. And I see you have met Lúthien."

Artanis bowed her head slightly. "I am honored to meet you, Queen Melian."

"Will you be coming to dinner with us?" Melian asked. "I understand that you may be tired, but…"

"I have every inention of coming," Artanis said. "When are we expected?"

"Half an hour," said Melian. "Do you wish to change your clothing?"

Artanis nodded. "Yes, I suppose I should, but… but I don't have anything."

"I do," Lúthien said. "Wait here. I know just the thing." She smiled, then dashed out of the room.

Melian watched her daughter leave, and a smile spread across her face. "Lúthien was so excited to here that there was a woman among you," she said. "I hope her zeal was not too shocking."

"It's quite all right," Artanis said. "I, too, am excited about the possibility of a friend. I love my brothers, but one longs for the company of another woman after a time."

Melian nodded. "Yes, I know. Lúthien and I are close, but a mother-daughter relationship is not the same thing as a friend."

"No, it's not," Artanis agreed. She could see that Lúthien and Melian were close, and she felt a twinge of jealousy. There had been no great love like this between her and her mother, Eärwen. Finarfin was pleased with his daughter and the strength she showed in both mind and body, but Eärwen, it seemed, was not so delighted. Eärwen wanted a daughter, and although Artanis was female by body, in spirit, she was more like her brothers.

"You have beautiful hair," Melian commented.

Artanis was somewhat surprised by Melian's words, as they were completely irrelevant to the topic at hand, but she found herself smiling at the compliment just the same. "Thank you," she said. Her hand absentmindendly drifted to her tresses, and she wound her fingers through the ends.

"The way it glows when the light hits it is incredible," Melian continued, stepping around Artanis to view her golden locks from different angles. "The very light of Laurelin lies within these strands."

At that moment, Lúthien returned, carrying a fine gown made of red silk. "This should fit you," the princess said. "You are taller than I, but it has always been long on me."

"Thank you," Artanis said, grateful to have anything to wear at all. "I'm sure it will do."

"Come, Lúthien," Melian said, placing her hand on her daughter's arm. "We should allow Artanis a few moments to change."

Lúthien nodded. "Yes, Mother."

"We will wait outside for you," Melian said as she and Lúthien left the room. "And there is water in the basin if you desire to wash up a bit."

Artanis thanked them, then began to prepare herself for dinner. A wash basin was located next to an empty wardrobe. She splashed some of the fresh, cool water on her face, then ran her hands through her hair, wondering if she should just leave it down or find something with which to pull it back. She glanced around the room, but seeing nothing she could use to perform the latter, she decided to allow it to hang loose.

The gown Lúthien brought was lying on the bed. Artanis changed out of her travelling clothes and slipped into the elegant red dress. It fit her well – almost too well for her desire, in fact, for the way it hung on her made it very obvious that she was a woman. Although it was long, it had been made for Lúthien, and Lúthien was not only shorter than her, but more delicately built as well. A wave of self-consciousness hit her, but she did not want Lúthien to think that she was uncomfortable with her choice, so she pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind and went out into the hall.

"I knew it," Lúthien said, smiling when she saw Artanis. "It looks wonderful on you."

"Yes, it does," Melian agreed. "How do you like it?"

Hearing these compliments made Artanis feel a little better. "I like it very much," she said. "Thank you, Lúthien."

Lúthien smiled. "You are welcome."

"Come," Melian said, taking a few steps and beckoning them to follow. "Let us go to dinner."

~~~

The dining hall was almost full by the time Melian, Lúthien, and Artanis arrived. Thingol was seated at the head of the table, and to his right was an empty seat, presumably for Melian. Artanis saw her four brothers, and Uncómien and Galathil, as well as over a dozen other Elves she did not recognize. Food had not yet been placed on the table, but there was wine, and everyone was drinking and laughing amongst themselves. All in all, it was a merry sight, and Artanis could already feel the weariness from her travels being lifted.

Melian took the empty seat next to Thingol, and Artanis spotted two empty places next to Finrod. She and Lúthien took those seats. Finrod did a double take when he saw his sister. "Artanis?"

Artanis felt her face grow slightly warm. "Yes, it's me," she said.

"You look… like a woman," he said, unable to think of anything else.

She smiled. "Imagine that," she said, and Finrod chuckled.

Artanis introduced Lúthien to Finrod, and also Angrod, who was sitting across from them. Then Lúthien introduced Artanis, Finrod, and Angrod to Daeron, the king's minstrel, who was seated next to Angrod. The five of them chatted amongst themselves for several minutes, and then the food was brought out. The talk slowed down as they ate, but continued just the same.

About halfway through the meal, Artanis noticed someone seated at the corner of the table nearest to Thingol. His face was both handsome and kind, and his hair, which hung down to his mid-back, was as silver as the moon. He was engaged in conversation with Thingol and Melian, and his face was turned in their direction, but his gaze seemed to go right through them. His eyes had a blank, cloudy look to them, completely unlike the rest of his attentive face. He also ate very slowly and meticulously, never once looking down at his plate. He was apparently close to the king, and yet they had not seen him earlier when they were brought before Thingol, and Artanis could not help but wonder who he was.

"Lúthien," Artanis said, "the man speaking with your parents – who is he?"

"Oh!" Lúthien said, and smiled. "His name is Celeborn. He's an advisor to my father, and also a student of my mother's. Uncómien and Galathil are his brothers. They're princes, but don't count on hearing that from them. They do not want to be admired for their titles."

"What is he like?" Artanis asked.

"Exceedingly clever, and wise beyond his years," Lúthien replied. "And a very good friend."

"Are the two of you close?"

"He's like a brother to me."

Artanis studied Celeborn for a few more moments before asking another question. She didn't know why, but something about him intrigued her, and she desired greatly to meet him. Then she remembered her conversation with Uncómien earlier. "Lúthien," she said, "when I spoke with Uncómien earlier today, he said Celeborn was the captain of the border patrol for many years, and then there was an accident. What happened?"

A scowl crossed Lúthien's face. "I doubt that it was an accident," she said quietly. "But whether it was or not does not matter now. He is blind."

Artanis nearly dropped her fork. "Blind?" she repeated.

"His eyes were pierced by an arrow touched by the Enemy," Lúthien said. "Our magic could heal the scars, but not his sight."

"That must be awful for him," Artanis said, gazing at Celeborn. The Elves depended on sight more than any of their other senses, and to lose that ability was an affliction like no other.

"It was, at first," said Lúthien, "but he's never given up. We always knew he had a strong will, but it turned out that it was even stronger than we thought. Never did he lose hope or give in to despair. When it became known that his vision could not be cured, he resolved to still be of use to the king. My mother has been teaching him since the incident, and he has achieved a level of wisdom far beyond his years."

"Is that so?" Finrod said, who had become interested in the story after taking notice of Celeborn as well. "I think I should like to meet him."

Lúthien nodded. "I will introduce you both to him after dinner – that is, if you would like to meet him as well, Artanis."

"Yes," Artanis said, never taking her eyes off Celeborn. "Yes, I would like that very much."

~~~~

Thanks to Arinya, Tindomiel, Morelen, and Dragon Confused for reviewing! Hope you're all enjoying.


	3. Celeborn

Author's Note: AU or not AU… that is the question.  I doubt Tolkien would have "really" made our man Celeborn blind or not, but that's the beauty of tertiary characters… fan fiction writers can do weird stuff like this to them and still have it make sense with canon if they're careful.  I, however, am not as careful as I should be.  A lot of the characters seem OOC, I know, *coughTHINGOLcough*, but I'm working on that.  I promise.  (Would it help if I redid the first chapter?)  This story's basically a feel-good fairy tale and should not be taken "seriously," per se.  Anyway.  I'm done.  You may read now.  ^_^

~~ Chapter Three: Celeborn ~~

            During the meal, Melian could not help seeing that Artanis kept glancing in their direction, specifically at Celeborn.  At first, she thought nothing of it, but after a time, saw that nothing else could attract the attention of the Noldorin woman for any amount of time.  Finrod, too, looked at the king's blind advisor from time to time, but his interest was mild, whereas Artanis looked fascinated.  Melian felt slightly uneasy at noticing this.  She trusted the Noldor, but the attention Celeborn received, on account of his blindness, was rarely positive.  Celeborn was like a son to her, and she was determined to protect him.

            Melian leaned in close to Thingol and whispered, "Artanis and Finrod seem interested in Celeborn."

            "Yes, I noticed that, too," Thingol whispered back.  "Should we introduce them?"

            "Later," Melian responded as she studied Artanis and wondered why she was so interested in Celeborn.  "I would like to speak with them first.  And Celeborn."

            "My lord," said Celeborn, turning his head toward Thingol, "the Noldorin visitors you spoke of… will you tell me about them?"

            Melian smiled to herself.  Their voices had not been soft enough.  Celeborn's sense of sight was useless, but his hearing was as keen as ever.

            "Of course, my friend," said Thingol, and launched into a brief explanation of who their visitors were.  The king told Celeborn their names, their relationship to him, and their business in Doriath.

            "How long will they be here?" Celeborn asked.

            "I know not," Thingol replied.  "Weeks, perhaps.  Maybe even months."

            "And it looks as though they would like to meet you," Melian added.

            A sad smile crossed Celeborn's face.  "And why would these children of the house of Finwë want to meet me, a lesser prince and blind former soldier now rendered useless?"

            "Perhaps they are curious as to how a blind former soldier became the king's closest advisor," Thingol said.

            Celeborn sighed and closed his eyes.  That had to be it.  That was always it.  It wasn't about him, it was about the blindness.  The most ironic thing about losing his sight was that he could now see people for who they really were, whereas they could not.  He had sympathizers, but no one, _no one could imagine what it was like to be in his place: the sole member of a race of physical perfection to be robbed of a vital sense.  Would these Noldor see him as anything more than a cripple?_

            He opened his eyes, but could still see nothing.

            Lúthien was true to her word.  After they finished eating, she led Artanis and Finrod out of the dining hall and into an adjacent corridor.  Their target was walking down the corridor.  He was alone, and moved very slowly, holding an ornately carved white staff accented with silver in his hand.  Artanis and Finrod noticed that he didn't use the staff to help him walk; before every step he took, he would sweep the bottom of the staff in front of his body to make sure he wasn't going to run into anything.  Finrod noticed that and thought it was rather clever.

            "Celeborn!" Lúthien called.

            Celeborn stopped walking and turned around.  "Lúthien."

            Lúthien, Artanis, and Finrod reached Celeborn, and Lúthien placed her hand on his shoulder to let him know where they were.  "I have brought two people who wish to meet you," she said.  Lúthien was no fool.  She was well aware of Celeborn's reluctance to make new acquaintances, but she also knew that the motives of Artanis, and likely Finrod as well, were not the same as that of most.

            "I was wondering who was with you," he said.  "There were two sets of footsteps that I did not recognize."  He sighed softly, and managed to produce a small smile.  "To whom am I being introduced?"

            Lúthien took Celeborn's free hand with her left, and with her right, reached for Finrod's.  She pressed their two hands together and said, "Celeborn, this is Finrod, son of Finarfin, of the house of Finwë.  Finrod, Prince Celeborn of Doriath, son of Galadhon."

            "I am honored to meet you, Lord Finrod," Celeborn said politely, but with only mild interest.

            "As am I, Prince Celeborn," Finrod replied, sounding far more enthusiastic.

            Finrod and Celeborn let go of each other.  Lúthien reached for Artanis's hand and then gave it to Celeborn.  "And this is the Lady Artanis, sister of Finrod."

            Celeborn was not expecting Artanis to be anything exceptional.  However, as soon as his skin touched hers, a slightly startled look came across his face.  Her skin was soft, as a woman's usually was, but her grip… it would have been as strong as a man's if she wasn't nervous.  He could tell she was nervous by the way she loosely held his hand and the way her fingers trembled so slightly that it would have gone unnoticed by one who did not rely so heavily on their sense of touch when meeting another.  But _why was she nervous?  Finding the answer to that would take a lot more than the clasping of hands._

            "Artanis," he said, translating her name's meaning in his head.  "That is a beautiful name."

            "Thank you," Artanis said in a voice that was not her usual strong, confident tone, but rather one that was soft and reserved.

            "You are welcome," he said.  "And I am sorry, but there is some business I must attend to that cannot wait.  Now if you will please excuse me-"

            He stopped speaking as the sound of approaching footsteps attracted the attention of them all.  It was Melian.  "Hello, Mother," said Lúthien.

            Melian smiled at each of them.  "Lúthien.  Finrod.  Artanis.  Celeborn."  She sighed.  "I see you have all met."  She hoped no irreversible damage had been done by any of them – in addition to the lack of sympathy the Noldor might have, Celeborn also had a tendency to be bitter toward others.

            "Yes," Finrod said.  "My only regret is that our meeting was so short."

            "I must attend to my duties," Celeborn explained.

            "You have done enough for one day," said Melian.  "I relieve you of any duties you may have tonight.  I do not believe the king will have need of your counsel, and if he does, I will send for you."

            Celeborn nodded.  "Very well, my lady."

            Melian, sensing that Lúthien wished to speak to Celeborn alone sometime in the near future, looked at Artanis and Finrod.  "The two of you must be very tired."

            "We are, Highness," said Finrod, and Artanis nodded.

            "I will escort you to your chambers," Melian said.  "Come."

            "Good night, Prince Celeborn, Princess Lúthien," Finrod said.  Artanis echoed his words, and the two of them followed Melian down the hall.

            Once they were out of earshot, Lúthien turned to her kinsman and said, "You could have been more courteous."

            "I am sorry, Lúthien, but I have grown weary of this," Celeborn replied.

            "Of _what_?"

            "Of these _games," he snapped.  "It's always the same.  Everyone wants to meet the king's blind advisor.  Never Celeborn."_

            Lúthien was beginning to lose her patience.  "I would have you know," she said, struggling to keep her voice steady, "that Artanis wanted to meet you _before_ she knew you were blind."

            For a moment, Celeborn lost the ability to speak.  Finally, he stammered, "She… she _did_?"

            "Yes," Lúthien said.  "And I could not get her to look away from you at dinner."  She paused, then added, "I hope you are feeling very foolish right now."

            He was.  Finally, someone who seemed to be willing to look past his blindness, and he acted like he wanted nothing to do with her.  "What should I do?" he asked.

            "My suggestion would be apologize."

            "When?  Tonight?"

            "Perhaps not tonight," said Lúthien.  "My mother was right; they are very tired.  Try in the morning.  She is staying in the room directly to the left of mine."

            "Thank you, Lúthien."

            She smiled.  "You're welcome.  And don't worry.  Everything will be fine."

            After saying good night to Finrod, Artanis and Melian went to Artanis's room.  Melian asked if she could come in for a moment.  Artanis could tell that it was not a request, and complied without hesitation.

            The two women sat down on a marble bench with cushions of red velvet located to the right of the doorway.  Once they were seated, Melian wasted no time in getting to the point.  "I noticed that you spent a lot of time looking at Celeborn at dinner tonight."

            The queen's tone confused Artanis.  She knew Melian did not approve of this, but she did not sound angry.  "Yes," Artanis said quietly.  "Yes, I did.  Forgive me.  I saw him, and I could not bring myself to look away."

            Melian smiled.  "I gathered that.  May I ask what you found so fascinating about him?"

            Artanis had to think about that for a moment.  The silence soon became too awkward for her liking, and she spoke.  "I don't know," she said.  She didn't like to say those words, but it was all she could think of.  "There is just something about him… I can't explain what I felt.  He is unlike anyone I have ever met before."

            "Because he is blind."__

            "Yes, and… and no," Artanis said.  "I did not know he was blind until Lúthien told me."

            "Very rarely does Celeborn meet someone whom he believes is interested in more than his affliction," said Melian.  "Perhaps he would not hold so strongly to that belief if it had been proven false in the past."

            Artanis's stomach gave a lurch.  "I didn't… I didn't offend him, did I?"

            "Not intentionally, I'm sure," Melian said, standing up.  "You are very tired, Artanis.  Rest, and think no more on the matter.  Perhaps it would be best, for everyone, if you and Celeborn were to keep your distance from each other for the time being.  Good night."

            "Good night."

~~~

Chocolate chip cookies for my reviewers: Arinya, Dragon Confused, saint, Raistlin Majere Archmagus, Angel, The Whisperer, Celebornslorien, Morelen, Marnie, and dia6.

To answer some questions:

Raistlin Majere, Archmagus – Don't worry, Daeron's not the traitor.  This time.

Marnie – Rats, you caught me, lol.  To the best of my knowledge, Uncómien doesn't actually mean anything; it's actually the name of a minor character in a novel I'm writing.  I needed his character and couldn't think of another name.  ^_^

Morelen – Haven't decided, actually, but probably not.

Again, thanks for reading, everyone, and I hope you're enjoying!


	4. Second Impressions

~~ Chapter Four: Second Impressions ~~

            Celeborn did not sleep well that night.  Lúthien's words kept echoing in his mind as he tossed and turned in his bed: _"Artanis wanted to meet you before she knew you were blind."  It was highly unlikely that Lúthien would speak anything but the truth, especially concerning something as serious as this.  He had few close friends other than his brothers and Lúthien, and now any chance he had of making a friend in Artanis seemed lost.  All because he had to act cynical toward her.  How could he have been such a fool?_

            Eventually, he fell asleep, and woke with the rising of the sun.  He could not see the light, but his mind perceived the arrival of dawn.  He'd always had that ability, and when he became blind, Melian helped him develop it further, and now it almost never failed him.  There were many things he wished to able to see again: the stars, Menegroth, Lúthien dancing, the forest, but a sunrise was among the sights he missed the most.

            He found his way over to his wardrobe and dressed slowly.  All his clothing was silver and white to prevent mismatching.  He had to be careful when dressing – once, not long after he first became blind, he put a tunic on backwards and wore it like that all day because no one told him for fear of offending him.  Over the years, though, as he became accustomed to his affliction, it became much easier, although his brothers still didn't understand how he could do it.  Uncómien once tried to dress himself with his eyes closed, and the result was rather amusing.

            He finished lacing up his boots, then took his staff from its place next to his wardrobe.  Everything had an assigned place; if he ever misplaced something, it would take him a long time to find it without asking for help, which he did not like to do.  He did not want others to think he was helpless just because he was blind.

            Once he was sure everything was in order, he left his room and began the walk over to the corridor where Lúthien's room was located.  It was easy to find her room; it was the only door in that hallway with a marble handle.  All the others were made of wood.  Artanis would be in the room directly to the left of Lúthien's.  He did not believe he would have any trouble finding it.

            As he walked, he contemplated what to say to Artanis, hoping he wouldn't repeat the mistakes of the night before.

            Exhaustion made Artanis slept like a rock, but she also woke at sunrise.  She splashed some cold water on her face, then picked out something to wear.  Melian, who was slightly taller than Lúthien (but of an equally dainty build), had given Artanis clothing to use until some could be made.  Her brothers were in a similar situation; what few personal belongings they brought out of Valinor had gradually been lost in various ways, and they were clothed in things that had been loaned to them by their new friends Galathil and Uncómien.  Artanis would have perfectly content with wearing mens' clothes – in fact, she probably would have been more comfortable – but she was not going to refuse Melian's hospitality.

            She decided on an ivory gown just a few shades lighter than her skin tone, changed into it, and then began to contemplate what she was going to do with her hair.  It had been more than a week since she'd had a chance to wash it, and although she'd gone longer with no problems, she didn't think she should wear it down until it was washed.  Not up to doing anything particularly creative, she spent a few minutes locating some pins, then twisted her hair into sections and pinned the sections up.

            As she was doing this, she found herself terribly missing Amarië.  Amarië was the only person outside her immediate family Artanis allowed to touch her hair, and she would always come up with wonderful ways to arrange it.  Eärwen would do this from time to time, usually while lecturing Artanis on how to act like a woman, but she did not have the talent that Amarië did.  Her hair caused Artanis to receive a lot of attention, and not all of it positive.  She remembered Fëanor and shuddered.  His strange, almost incestuous fascination with her and her hair caused a lot of tension between the two of them.  When word came to her of his death, she grieved for her kinsman as anyone would, but secretly she could not help feeling a little bit relieved.

            A knock on the door brought Artanis out of her thoughts.  She wondered who it could be.  Probably Lúthien.  Or perhaps one of her brothers.  Although most of her attention at the meal last night had been directed at Celeborn, Artanis managed to catch a few other things, namely Finrod and Angrod discussing making a trip to the border sometime within the next few days to visit the encampment of the other Noldor.  The children of Finarfin were the king's kin, but the other members of their party, some two dozen in number, were denied entrance into Doriath.

            When Artanis opened the door, she saw that it was not Lúthien or her brothers.  It was Celeborn.

            "Prince Celeborn!" she exclaimed, unable to hide her surprise.

            "Good morning, Lady Artanis," he returned, bowing his head respectfully.  "I trust you slept well."

            "Yes, thank you, but with all due respect, my lord, I do not understand why you are here."

            "To ask your forgiveness," he said.  "My behavior toward you and your brother last night was less than cordial, and for that I apologize."

            "Forgiveness was given before it was asked," Artanis said.  "No apology was necessary, my lord.  You have endured much needlessly on account of fools."

            "The injustice of the past is no excuse for the actions of the present."

            "Very well.  I will accept your apology if you accept mine."

            Celeborn looked surprised.  "What do you have to apologize for?"

            "Nothing.  Just like you."

            He smiled.  "You have a sharp wit, my lady."

            "Artanis!" came Orodreth's voice.  She looked over and saw her second eldest brother walking toward them.  "They are about to serve breakfast.  Will you be coming?"  He stopped walking, and took notice of Celeborn.  "Hello."

            Celeborn turned in the direction of Orodreth's voice and returned the greeting.  Orodreth extended his hand, but Celeborn did not take it.

            Artanis, realizing that Orodreth did not know about Celeborn's blindness, remembered the method of introduction Lúthien had used the previous night.  She took Orodreth's hand, then Celeborn's, and pressed them together.  "My lord Celeborn, this Orodreth, son of Finarfin, and my brother.  Orodreth, this is Celeborn, son of Galadhon, and a prince of Doriath."

            "It is an honor to meet you, Prince Celeborn," Orodreth said.

            "It is an honor to meet you as well, son of Finarfin," said Celeborn.

            A relieved smile worked its way onto Artanis's face.  The introduction was not the finest, but it served its purpose.

            Orodreth excused himself, and Artanis turned to Celeborn.  "Will you be going to breakfast?" she asked.

            "I had planned on it," he said.  "Do you know the way?  It is easy to get turned around in these halls."

            Native of Doriath or not, Artanis could not help but find the idea of those words coming from a blind man slightly amusing.  "I think so," she said.  "It is not far from here.  Will you come with me?"

            "I would be honored."

            They began walking toward the dining hall.  Celeborn, as he had to use the staff to find his way, could not move very quickly.  Artanis noticed this, and an idea came to her.  "Here," she said.  "Take my arm."

            An apologetic smile crossed his face.  "I would, lady, if I could find it."  The last thing he wanted was to reach over and accidentally touch something he shouldn't.

            She touched her hand to his arm.  He thanked her, and they linked arms.  "You are tall," he noticed.  "Taller than Queen Melian.  The top of her head is probably at the same level as… as your eyes."

            "Yes," Artanis said.  "That's right."

            "Then that would mean you are as tall as I, perhaps a few hair widths shorter."

            She smiled.  "That is amazing."

            "Thank you, but it is merely a skill I have acquired to make up for what I have lost."

            Artanis did not understand why Melian was so against her becoming friends with Celeborn.  With every passing moment, she grew more and more fond of the blind prince.  "That may be, but I am impressed just the same."

            They walked in silence for a few moments, and then Artanis, filled with curiosity about her companion, asked him a question.  "Have you lived in Menegroth your whole life?"

            "Off and on, but only consistently the last thirty years," he said.  "I was born here, but when I was small, my family moved to Otoromu, a village near the southern border.  Galathil and Uncómien were both born there.  I joined the border patrol at twenty and had no fixed residence for the next fifty-two years.  Then I lost my sight and came to Menegroth permanently."

            Doing some quick adding in her head, Artanis figured that Celeborn was just over a hundred years old.  He had endured much for someone so young.

            "Do you like it here, Artanis?" he asked.

            "Very much," she answered.  "This land is beautiful, and the hospitality has been very much appreciated."

            "Yes, it is beautiful," he agreed.  "I can see it in my dreams sometimes; the trees, the birds, Lúthien dancing under the stars, my brothers making faces at Valendil behind his back…"

            He smiled, and Artanis did as well.  It was easy for her to imagine Uncómien doing that, and she would not think it impossible of Galathil.  "You and your brothers must be very close," she said.

            "Oh yes," he replied.  "All three of us were on the border patrol together for about seven years… those were the happiest years of my life.  Uncómien would concoct all sorts of schemes, and he and Galathil were always trying to get me to go along with them.  There was one incident where the two of them volunteered for night duty, and they hid everyone's left boot except mine, so…"

            Then, he stopped talking.  Artanis, who had been hanging on every word, wondered why.

            "I'm sorry," he said.  "I do not usually talk this much."

            "It's all right," she said.  "I don't mind."

            He was delighted over the fact that she seemed interested in what he had to say, but now the rhythm of their conversation had been interrupted, and the awkward silence that occurs when two strangers with a mutual interest in each other realize they bonded faster than they expected set in.

            Celeborn took it upon himself to get the two of them talking again.  "Do you know how long you will be in Doriath?"

            "No," Artanis replied.  "My people need to regroup and formulate a plan of action before we can strike at Morgoth, but I do not believe my brothers and I will be a part of that."

            "And why is that?" Celeborn asked.

            She sighed and glanced at the floor.  "We did not swear the Oath of Fëanor, so we are not bound to the fate of the Silmarils.  Fëanor's pride brought about his destruction.  He was my uncle, but I will have nothing to do with him."

            "Forgive me if I am out of line, Artanis, but why did you leave the Blessed Realm, if not for him and his cause?"

            Ordinarily, she would have thought such a question bold coming from someone she'd just met, but she was comfortable around Celeborn and felt like she'd known him longer, if only in her heart.  She took a few moments to select the right words in her mind, and then gave her answer.  "There was only ever hostility between Fëanor and myself, but even so, my heart was moved by his words," she said.  "Valinor is a wonderful place, free of pain and despair, but we were trapped.  It was a cage; a beautiful cage, but a cage just the same.  My dream is to rule a realm of my own, and as farfetched as that sounds, I'm closer to achieving it here and now than I ever would be in Valinor."

            Celeborn nodded in understanding.  Forsaking one's home in pursuit of an impossible dream would have sounded foolish coming from another, but he sensed that her will was strong and her heart determined.  "You have the spirit of a queen," he said.  "I have no doubt that you will one day accomplish all that you desire."

            "Thank you."

            They reached the dining hall a few minutes later and parted ways.  Artanis took an open seat between Finrod and Aegnor, and Celeborn sat near the head of the table next to Lúthien.  "You and Artanis seem to be getting along," the king's daughter commented when her cousin sat down.

            "She's _incredible, Lúthien," Celeborn said.  "I don't know how else to describe her."_

            Lúthien smiled.  She knew within ten minutes of meeting Artanis that she and Celeborn would like each other, and her instincts had yet to betray her.  "I'm glad to hear that."

            "Where is she now?"

            "Three seats from the far end of the opposite side," Lúthien said, "between two of her brothers; Finrod and either Angrod or Aegnor.  They're twins, and I do not know them well enough to tell them apart yet; not from this distance, anyway."

            He figured out where she was using Lúthien's directions and turned his head.  "Am I looking the right way?"

            "Right at her," said Lúthien.

            Celeborn had accepted the fact that his sight would never return a long time ago, and moments where he wished with all his heart that he could see again were few and far in between.  This was one of them.  He sighed and turned his head away.  "I wish I could see her," he confessed quietly.  "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

            "Very," Lúthien answered.  "She's tall and strong, with sapphire eyes and hair like the sun."

            Life could be very ironic at times, he thought to himself, and sighed.  If only he wasn't blind.  Then he might stand a chance.

            "Don't give up so soon, Celeborn," Lúthien said in an encouraging tone.  "After all, you're no Orc yourself."

            "Excuse me?" he said, feeling his cheeks grow warm.  It was impossible to have a private thought around Lúthien; her ability to perceive the minds of others, especially those she knew as well as him, was far too sensitive.

            Lúthien took a drink from her goblet and changed the subject.  "Smile.  She just looked this way."

~~~

Home Port bagels for my reviewers: Angel, Bejai, Marnie, Morelen, Dragon Confused, chocchip, and Skycat14.  I've been flying on airplanes all day (airplanes, yay) and I'm really tired so I'm going to bed now!  G'night!!


	5. The Border

~~ Chapter Five: The Border ~~

            Several days passed, and Finrod's plan to make a trip to the border to check on the rest of their party was put into action.  Orodreth, Aegnor, and Angrod were going as well, but Artanis declined the offer, electing to stay behind in Menegroth.  She said she was staying for Lúthien and that the two of them were working on something, but Finrod couldn't help thinking that his sister wasn't being entirely truthful about her reasons.  Lúthien wasn't the only one to notice Artanis and Celeborn enter the dining hall looking as though they'd been friends for years, and Finrod's thoughts about their relationship were ambivalent.  He had no negative feelings toward Celeborn – in fact, he admired him – but he feared what would happen if his friendship with Artanis turned into something more.  How would the Noldor react if the greatest of their women fell in love with a blind man?

Finrod was able to eventually convince himself that Artanis was too smart to waste herself on someone who couldn't see her.  She was ambitious and he was a prince, but it was highly unlikely that rule of Doriath would ever fall to him, and the chances of another realm accepting a blind ruler were even slimmer.  Celeborn would only hold her back.

_Besides_, he thought to himself, _she's too old for him_.

            With those thoughts in mind, he set out on horseback with his brothers to the border at dawn a week after their arrival feeling confident that Artanis, if faced with a decision, would make the right choice.  They were riding for about half an hour when they were stopped by Galathil and another soldier they had not met, with dark hair and an ill-favored look about him.  Finrod was glad to see Galathil, but the other made him nervous.

            "Good morning, Finrod," Galathil said, pulling his horse alongside Finrod's.  "We heard you were traveling to the border.  Captain Valendil asked us to accompany you."

            "Thank you," said Finrod.  "An escort will be most appreciated."

            "We will take you to the Noldor camp," the dark-haired elf said in a bitter voice.  "Follow me."

            Orodreth fell in line behind the stranger, and Aegnor and Angrod were right behind him.  Galathil had motioned for Finrod to hold back, and the two of them brought up the rear.  "I'm sorry about Aranesen," Galathil said apologetically.

            Finrod assumed Aranesen was their dark-haired leader.  "Is he always so… unpleasant?"

            "Yes, but usually not to this extent," Galathil answered.  Finrod noticed he was speaking softer than normal.  "It's probably me.  Valendil generally keeps us apart, but the king wanted at least one of the escorts to have met you before.  Irisun is not available, and there is no way Valendil would send Uncómien with Aranesen alone.  That would be worse than me."

            "What does he have against you and Uncómien?" Finrod asked, making a conscious effort to keep his voice down as well.

            "We're Celeborn's brothers."

            "Oh," said Finrod.  "Then what does he have against Celeborn?"

            Galathil sighed and looked down before answering.  "When Celeborn was captain, before he was blinded, Aranesen was his lieutenant.  Everyone expected that he would become captain after Celeborn had to leave our numbers, but he didn't."

            "Valendil did," Finrod said.

            "Exactly," said Galathil.  "And then Uncómien replaced Aranesen as lieutenant."

            "Why is that?"

            Galathil lowered his voice to a whisper.  "Because if it were not for Aranesen, Celeborn might still have his sight."

            Finrod stared at Galathil in surprise for a few moments, then said, "This just became very interesting."

            Galathil looked as though he felt he said too much.

            Finrod thought back to a conversation he had with Artanis two nights ago.  The topic of Celeborn's blindness came up, and despite all the time she spent with Celeborn, she didn't know much more than Finrod did.  When they first arrived in Menegroth, Uncómien told her it had been a "terrible accident," but the next morning, Lúthien said that she did not believe it was an accident at all.  Aranesen was apparently a piece in this puzzle as well.

            "It's been almost thirty-one years," Galathil said quietly.  "A large party of orcs had been spotted on our eastern borders.  They could not enter Doriath, but our scouts reported that Sauron was planning to build a fortress there.  Sauron is more powerful than the queen, and he is capable of breaking through her enchantments.  We laid siege to the orc camp as soon as we received the king's orders to do so."

            "Let me guess," said Finrod.  "A trap."

            Galathil nodded.  "There was no plan for a fortress.  Not at that point, anyway.  Sauron's plan was to annihilate our defenses, then work his way through the Girdle of Melian, essentially clearing the road for Morgoth.  There were three times as many orcs there as we originally suspected, and we were outnumbered fifty to one.  About halfway through the battle, which we were winning by a significant amount, Celeborn gave an order which Aranesen refused.  As a result, Aranesen ended up being captured by orcs.  Celeborn rescued him.  When they tried to escape, Celeborn was attacked.  Just Celeborn.  The orcs completely ignored Aranesen; it was like he didn't even exist.  Aranesen got away and told us Celeborn had been killed.  Uncómien refused to believe it unless he saw it with his own eyes, and he was gone before anyone could stop him.  He found Celeborn and fought off twenty orcs with his bare hands.  If it had taken Uncómien any longer to get to him, he probably _would have been dead.  He'd suffered many injuries, but the worst was an arrow right through his eyes."_

            Finrod looked at Aranesen, and anger swelled inside him.

            "We later learned that the arrow had been touched by Morgoth himself," Galathil continued.  "It burned the queen's hand when she tried to remove it, and she said that was how she knew.  The strange thing is that appeared to be the only arrow poisoned by the Enemy.  It was as if it was _meant_ for Celeborn."

            "And what happened to Aranesen?" Finrod asked.

            "King Thingol was outraged when he heard of Aranesen's cowardice," Galathil said.  "He was going to remove him from the border patrol and even threatened to banish him from Doriath.  Uncómien vouched for him, though, and he was allowed to remain, but received a serious demotion."

            Had he been Thingol or even Uncómien, Finrod probably would have killed him, and he said so.

            A bittersweet smile crossed Galathil's face.  "Uncómien almost did."

            ***

            _"There!" Valendil cried.  "It's Uncómien!  And he has Celeborn!"_

_            No less than seven soldiers rushed over to help Uncómien as he came over the rise, carrying the battered, lifeless body of his brother.  "Where is Aranesen?" Uncómien asked quietly._

_            "Uncómien, you're hurt," said Valendil, taking notice of the numerous cuts and bruises on Uncómien's arms and face.  "You must see one of the Healers."_

_            As he was speaking, two Healers arrived, followed by a third.  The first two took Celeborn, and the third approached Uncómien.  He waved her back.  "Do not bother with me," he said.  "I will be fine.  Where is Aranesen?"_

_            "Over there," said Valendil, and nodded toward a tree about twenty feet away.  Aranesen was sitting underneath it with another Healer who was bandaging his arm._

_            Uncómien, exhausted as he was, still had enough energy in him to run full-speed at Aranesen, seize him by the neck, lift him to his feet, and slam him against the tree.  "Coward!" he shouted.  "You pathetic, gutless piece of filth!  How could you leave him?"_

_            Aranesen could not answer; Uncómien's grip on his throat was too tight for him to breathe._

_            It took three soldiers to pry Uncómien off Aranesen.  "I'm sorry," Aranesen gasped, rubbing at his throat.  "The arrow hit him in the eyes.  There was no hope."_

_            "THERE IS ALWAYS HOPE!  HE COULD HAVE STILL BEEN ALIVE!" Uncómien screamed, fighting against the soldiers that held him with all the strength his anger had given him.  "HE DIDN'T HAVE TO SAVE YOU, BUT HE DID!  AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY HIM?"_

_            He broke free of those who held him and rushed at Aranesen again, this time throwing him to the ground.  "MY BROTHER IS DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU!"_

_            Galathil ran over and placed his hand on his brother's  shoulder.  "Uncómien…"_

_            Uncómien whirled around, looking like a dragon about to strike.  But he didn't.  He stood still for a few moments, and gradually, his rage faded.  Tears formed in his eyes, and he was unable to fight them back.  Broken, he sank to his knees and wept bitterly.  Galathil knelt down next to him, and no one dared approach._

_            Finally, one of the Healers made an announcement.  "He's not dead."_

_            Uncómien and Galathil looked up, and hope was rekindled in their hearts.  "He's not dead?"_

_            "No," the Healer answered.  "But I am afraid he will never be the same again."_

***

            "Uncómien and Aranesen didn't speak to each other for almost five years," Galathil said.  "They haven't forgiven each other, either."

            "Do you expect they ever will?"

            Galathil sighed and shook his head.  "I do not."

            It was sunset by the time they reached the camp of the Noldor.  As they rode in, out of the main tent in the center of the encampment came Celebrimbor, a grandson of Fëanor who had become estranged from his father, Curufin, and been permitted by Finrod to join their party.  Celebrimbor was made leader in the absence of the children of Finarfin, and Finrod and the others were anxious to hear his report.

            "Lord Finrod!" Celebrimbor said.  "This is an unexpected surprise!  It is good to see you."

            "It is good to see you, too, Celebrimbor," Finrod replied, dismounting from his horse.

His brothers and Galathil got off their horses as well; Aranesen, however, rode off without a word.  "Don't mind him," Galathil said when he saw Finrod shoot a surprised look in Aranesen's direction.  "Valendil told him to only take you this far.  I will remain with you, and another escort will be here in the morning; probably Uncómien or Irisun."

            The fact that he would just leave without even saying anything seemed somewhat strange to Finrod, but he was glad Aranesen was gone just the same.  There was something about Aranesen that he found unsettling.

            "We sent messengers to Turgon in Nevrest two days ago, telling him of our situation," Celebrimbor said.  "And a scout spotted a party of orcs yesterday, but they were moving toward the west and did not linger."

            "Kill every orc you see," Finrod said.  "We need every chip in the Enemy's armor that we can make."

            "Yes, my lord," Celebrimbor said.  He then looked around at the company that rode in from Menegroth.  "You must be weary from your travels.  Come; let us go inside."

            The horses were led away, and Finrod, Orodreth, Aegnor, Angrod, and Galathil followed Celebrimbor inside the tent.  Finrod noticed that Celebrimbor kept glancing back, and he knew he was looking for Artanis.  It was no secret that Celebrimbor was fond of her, and although Artanis did not reciprocate his feelings for her, Finrod secretly hoped she would someday.  Celebrimbor would be a good match for her.  Now that Fëanor was dead, Celebrimbor's skill as a craftsman was unmatched, and before him stood the promise of a great and glorious future.

            No sooner had they sat down than Celebrimbor asked the question Finrod knew he would.  "Where is Artanis?"

            "Menegroth," said Finrod.  "We asked her to come, but she said she would rather stay behind."

            "She has wasted no time in making friends," said Aegnor.  He chuckled softly.  "You'd think she'd lived there for years, the way she and Celeborn – ouch!"

            He was cut off when Finrod elbowed him in the rib cage, but it was too late.  The damage had already been done.  Celebrimbor visibly stiffened.  "Who?" he asked, sounding much more concerned than he intended.

            "Celeborn," said Aegnor, rubbing the spot where Finrod elbowed him.  "He's an advisor to the king."

            "He's my brother," said Galathil.

            "He's a prince," said Angrod.

            "He's blind," Finrod said quietly.

            "He's blind?" Orodreth repeated, looking at his brother.

            "He's blind," Finrod said again.

            "He's blind?" Celebrimbor asked.

            "He's blind," Galathil confirmed.

            "That hurt," Aegnor whispered to Finrod.

            "Sorry," Finrod whispered back.

            Celebrimbor was stunned.  Blindness was a thing unheard of among the elves.  He was even more stunned than Orodreth, who was now arguing with Finrod.  "I _met_ him!" Orodreth said.  "He didn't _act like he was blind!"_

            "Orodreth," Finrod said, "have you ever met someone blind _before?"_

            Galathil cleared his throat loudly.  When he had everyone's attention, he spoke.  "As I have known Celeborn all my life, I believe I am the foremost authority on his condition present," he said.  "He is indeed blind, and has been so for the last thirty years.  And now, if we are quite finished with this discussion…"

            "Of course we are," said Finrod.  "My apologies for ever bringing it up, Galathil."

            Galathil nodded.  "Apology accepted.  Now, then; Celebrimbor, I believe you have the floor."

            "Indeed, I do," said Celebrimbor, studying Galathil carefully.  "But first, there is one small matter that remains to be addressed.  You seem to know who I am, but I do not believe I have met you."

            "Celebrimbor, this is Galathil, son of Galadhon; Galathil, Celebrimbor, son of Curufin," Finrod said quickly.  "There.  You've met.  Keep talking."

            A flicker of a smile appeared on Celebrimbor's face as he resumed giving his report.  "The scouts have done more than report orc sightings," he said.  "They have been tracking the movements.  If you'll come over to this map…"

            The six of them stood, and Celebrimbor led them over to a large table in the corner of a tent, on which a map of Beleriand was placed.  Several lines had been drawn on it recently, all converging on a single point in the mountains.  "As you can see, they all move through here," Celebrimbor said, placing his finger on the spot where the lines met.  "It's the only way through the Ered Wethrin and the Crissaegrim.  If we were to block it somehow and prevent their passage, they would have to go around for miles, and great deal of the western border would be protected."

            Finrod smiled approvingly.  "Well done, Celebrimbor," he said.  "I am very impressed.  What is the name of this place?"

            "The Pass of Sirion."

            "The Pass of Sirion," Finrod repeated slowly, savoring the name.  "We shall build a tower at this Pass of Sirion as soon as we are capable of doing so.  I should like very much to see it."

            "Then we will arrange it," Celebrimbor said.  "Should we plan to make this journey in one week?"

            "Make it two," Finrod replied.  "It will give you time to gather more information on it.  Meanwhile, I will do my part from Menegroth and ask the king what he knows of this pass and what course of action he would suggest." 

            "May I speak, Finrod?" Galathil asked.

            "Of course, friend," was Finrod's answer.

            "The Pass of Sirion is indeed a vital point, and the Enemy knows that, too," Galathil said.  "It will not be easy to claim that land."

            "I think we'll manage," Finrod said.  "We are not as weak as the Enemy would like to think."

            _We'll see, Galathil thought, but kept it to himself._

~~~

Big fluffy marshmallows for my reviewers: Marnie, Skycat14, Arinya, stearchica, Angel, Guard Elf of Lorien, and Jemi Gr!

@ stearchica: He was blinded after the sun and moon rose.  I haven't decided on a definite year for this story yet (whups), but it's around the year 75 of the First Age.

@ Guard Elf of Lorien: Hee hee, whups.  He's supposed to be young, but not _that_ young… although I do remember reading an essay in which it claimed Tolkien said elves "came of age" at around 50… *sigh*  At any rate, I have to get to class.  ^_^

Hope you're all enjoying!


	6. Strategy

~~ Chapter Six: Strategy ~~

            Finrod, Orodreth, Aegnor, Angrod were back in Menegroth by sunset the next evening, accompanied by Galathil and Uncómien.  The city guards met them at the gates, where the Noldor parted ways with their escorts.  Orodreth, Aegnor, and Angrod were tired, both from the journey and from not sleeping the previous night because of the amount of things that needed to be done, so they went to the rooms that had been provided for them almost immediately to rest.  Finrod was tired, too, but there were several things he wanted to attend to before the day was over.

            He wanted to see Thingol, but after learning from one of the guards that the king could not be torn away from affairs of state, Finrod sought out his second choice: Artanis.  He checked her room first, which was empty, and then searched Menegroth's massive library for most of an hour.  Having no success, he went back to the room he shared with Orodreth, woke his brother from his state of slumber, and asked if he had an idea as to where Artanis could be.

            "No," the groggy Orodreth mumbled, none too delighted at being awakened.  "Ask Lúthien.  Or Celeborn."

            Finrod had not seen Lúthien either, but he knew where Celeborn's audience chamber was, so he decided to look there.  Thingol had pointed it out to him a few days earlier.  Even though he was blind, Celeborn was second only to Melian in authority below that of the king's, and as he made his way through the palace, it occurred to Finrod that he could probably learn more from Celeborn than the whereabouts of his sister.  Surely he, as a prince of Doriath and former captain of the marchwardens, would be able to give him some advice.

            He arrived at the entrance to his destination, a large, ornately carved door, and knocked.  He heard the muffled sound footsteps echoing against the stone floor on the other side, and then the door opened.  "Lord Finrod," said the elf who opened the door.  "Please, come inside."

            Finrod thanked him and did.  He had not seen the inside of the room before, and took a few moments to look around.  It was far smaller than Thingol's audience chamber, naturally, or any other major rooms in the palace, but noticeably larger than the bedrooms, which were of no modest size themselves.  The vaulted ceiling made the room seem larger than it was, and on the wall opposite the entrance, a tapestry was hung.  The room had no windows, but the many candles positioned at various locations did a fine job of providing more than enough light.  In the center of the room was a rectangular table carved of a dark-colored wood.  At the far end of the table, in a high-backed chair of the same material as the table, sat the silver-haired Celeborn.  A scribe stood nearby, holding a scroll in one hand and a quill in the other.  A vial of ink rested on the table.  The scribe had been writing something when Finrod entered, but stopped after taking notice of him.

            "Prince Celeborn," the doorkeeper said, "Lord Finrod is here."

            Celeborn placed his hands on the table and rose to his feet.  "_Mae govannen_, Finrod," he said.  "I trust your journey was worthwhile?"

            "Yes, it was," Finrod said.  "Forgive me; I did not know you were preoccupied."

            "Nonsense," said Celeborn.  He turned his head toward the scribe.  "I believe that will do, Antalin.  If you could please take that to Queen Melian and have her look it over before we give it to the king, I would be very thankful.  I believe she is in her study."

            "Of course, my lord," Antalin said, and left the room.

            "Please, sit down," Celeborn said to Finrod, gesturing toward another chair that Finrod hadn't noticed before.

            Finrod thanked him and sat down.  "If I may ask, what were you doing?" he inquired.

            "That was a proposition for a new law," Celeborn said, sitting down as well.  "One of my duties is to act as a mediator, if you will, between the king and the people.  If something is of concern to them, it reaches my ears by means of the local authorities.  If it requires something as significant as a law, I pass it on to the king; otherwise my advisors and I take care of it."

            "How clever," Finrod commented.  "Is this system efficient?"

            "Very.  The king has the final word in the most important decisions, but he is not troubled by the minor issues."

            A silence followed those words, and then Finrod asked, "Have you seen Artanis?"  Then he realized what he said and slapped himself on the forehead.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean…"

            Celeborn laughed.  "I know what you meant, Finrod," he said, "and it would be foolish of me to take offense at such a common saying.  She and Lúthien are with Daeron, although I do not know where."

            Finrod relaxed, but something else was lingering in the back of his mind.  "Galathil told me about… about your lieutenant."

            Celeborn's face slowly turned serious again.  "He did?"

            "He was our other escort," said Finrod.

            "How much did he tell you?"

            "A great deal."

            Celeborn closed his eyes and nodded.  "Do not be quick to judge Aranesen," he said.  "In the heat of battle, not everything is as it seems."

             Finrod nodded, knowing how true that could be.  "You have a compassionate spirit," he observed.  "I can think of many who would do well to have someone like you on their side."

            "Perhaps," said Celeborn.  "Is there anything else you wish to know?"

            "Yes, actually," Finrod replied.  "What call you tell me about the Pass of Sirion?"

            "The Pass of Sirion?" Celeborn repeated.  "The only route through the Ered Wethrin and the Crissaegrim?  What do you want to know?"

            "My companions think it would be beneficial to our cause if we were to establish a stronghold at that location," Finrod explained.  "Would you agree to that?"

            Celeborn leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table, and turned his head in the direction of Finrod's voice.  "If you were to capture the Pass of Sirion," he said quietly, "it would be the single most vital point in your war for as long as you could hold it."

            Finrod smiled triumphantly.  "Perfect," he said.  "Thank you, my friend.  Now, if you'll excuse me…"

            He stood up to leave, but Celeborn's voice stopped him.  "Wait a moment," the prince said.  "You do not _really_ mean to capture this pass, do you?"

            "Of course I do," Finrod said, feeling slightly alarmed.  "You said yourself that it would help us."

            "Ideally, yes," said Celeborn, "but it would not be worth the losses you would suffer in your attempt to take it."

            A small chuckle escaped Finrod's lips.  "You underestimate our strength, Celeborn," he said.  "My cousin Turgon in Nevrast-"

            "Is not a native of Beleriand," Celeborn interrupted.  "Even if you had a force ten thousand strong, you would be at a disadvantage."

            "How so?"

            "The Pass of Sirion is not a place you can just walk up to and claim," Celeborn said.  "The Enemy will be guarding it.  I would advise stealth.  Do not go by the river.  Attack from two fronts: the Ered Wethrin and the Crissaegrim.  Swiftness and cunning are often better strategies than strength alone."

            "Will you help us?" Finrod asked softly.

            Finrod's request surprised Celeborn.  He, a lord of the Noldor, was asking a blind man to help their battle strategy?  It was a strange request, but an eloquent one.  He spent a few more moments in thought, then gave his answer.  "I will do everything in my power to make sure you take that pass."

            Finrod and Celeborn talked for a few more minutes, then left the room together, with Finrod's objective to seek out Artanis and Celeborn's to find Melian and discuss his law.  They didn't have to wait long before the former's task was fulfilled; they had only taken a few steps away from Celeborn's audience chamber when Artanis, Lúthien, and Daeron appeared, walking toward them.  Artanis and Lúthien were talking to each other, and Daeron's attention was focused on the two women.  Finrod was unable to hide his amusement.

            "You would do well to watch where you're going," he said with a chuckle, "or you might run into someone."

            "Finrod!" Artanis exclaimed, then ran forward and embraced her brother.  "When did you return?"

            "About an hour ago," he said.  "Where have you been?"

            "Outside," said Lúthien as she and Daeron joined the other three.  "Daeron was singing for us.  Your sister is a fine dancer, Finrod."

            Artanis smiled and blushed slightly.  "No, I'm not."

            "I'm sure you are," Celeborn said quietly.

            He was the only one of them to not see the affectionate look she cast in his direction.

            Finrod cleared his throat, effectively causing everyone's attention to turn to him.  Then he spoke.  "Celebrimbor suggested we capture the Pass of Sirion.  It is a vital location, and thanks to Celeborn here, we are already formulating a strategy."

            "The Pass of Sirion?" Artanis asked.  "What is that?"

            "Imperative," her brother said.  "Oh, I have something for you."  He reached into his pocket and pulled something out; what it was, she could not see because his fist was closed around it.  "Celebrimbor made this.  He would have given it to you himself, but since you did not come with us, he asked me to give it to you on his behalf."

            He then took her hand in his and placed in it the object he had been holding, a golden necklace; each link in the chain meticulously crafted into the shape of a leaf.  "Thank you," she said slowly, feeling, though she did not know why, more than a little awkward about accepting a gift from a known admirer in front of those present, especially Celeborn.  "It's… lovely."

            It was more than "lovely."  It was exquisite, as Celebrimbor's work always was.  And yet, for all his skill, he could never understand that she did not see him as anything more than a friend and probably never would.  She looked up from the necklace at Celeborn, and noticed that he seemed more aloof than usual.  Both hands were on his staff, his eyes were closed, and his head was turned away from the rest of them.

            "Well, put it on," Finrod encouraged.

            She did.  The metal was warm against her skin from being in Finrod's hand.  She'd never been too fond of wearing gold; it was always outshone by her hair.  Finrod, however, looked pleased, and she would wear it for his sake.

            Celeborn excused himself, saying he needed to find the queen.  Daeron took his leave then as well, leaving Finrod and the two women.  They did not stay long, either; Finrod was tired, and he left to go rest.  Lúthien asked Artanis if she wanted to go to the library, and the other woman promised to meet her there soon; there was something she wanted to do first.

            It didn't take her long to catch up with Celeborn.  "Are you all right?" she asked, reducing her pace to his when she caught him.

            "Of course I am," he replied calmly, and stopped walking.  She did, too.  "Why do you ask, my lady?"

            "You just seemed… distant."

            He sighed.  "I fear for your brother," he admitted.  "I do not believe he knows what he is getting himself in to."

            "With his plan to take the Pass of Sirion?"

            Celeborn nodded.

            "But he said that you were helping them to formulate a strategy," she said.  "Surely, with your guidance, the attempt will be successful."

            He sighed again and said, "Really, Artanis, how much help do you think I am going to be?"  His cloudy, expressionless eyes stared directly at her, and she could feel the burning desire of his soul to see through them once more.

            "You are blind, my lord," she said, "but your wisdom is great."

            "Ah, yes, the blind wise man," he said dryly.  "How poetic."

            "Not even the wisest can see all," Artanis replied.  "Besides, the eyes deceive.  You cannot always trust them."  Then he heard her voice again; not through his ears, but as though she was in his head: _So little to be seen is through the eyes of the flesh._

            "And what do _you_ trust, my lady, if not what you see?"

            "I trust my heart."

            She took her leave of him after speaking those words.  He knew he should continue on his way and speak with Melian, but he could not move.  She called him wise, and yet in her words was a greater wisdom than even she knew.  _Perhaps that is the purpose of women_, he thought.  _To remind us of the difference between knowing what we see and seeing what we know_.

            From that moment on, he forever loved the noble woman of the house of Finwë.

~~~

Celeborn's kind of… moody.

Chips and salsa for my reviewers: Nevdoiel, Skycat14, Miss Aranel, The Ruler of the Elflings, Guard Elf of Lorien, Galorin, and Querida!

Had to throw in Celebrimbor.  As if being blind wasn't a big enough challenge for our favorite elf lord.

Well, gonna shut up and post now because I suddenly got in this I-must-do-my-physics-homework mood.  Which is a big thing for me.  Really.  :o)


	7. A Plan of Attack

Sorry this took so long, but it's a pretty meaty chapter; you forgive me, right?  :o)

~~ Chapter Seven: A Plan of Attack ~~

            The next two weeks were full of activity and passed quickly.  Thingol not only supported Finrod's decision to capture the Pass of Sirion, he encouraged it, and offered whatever of Doriath's resources would be needed.  Finrod and his brothers spent most of their time in Menegroth's libraries, researching the land and trying to decide on the wisest course of action.  Many hours were also spent with Doriath's finest military minds, chiefly Valendil and Celeborn.  The latter's blindness did not prevent him from remembering the location and the surrounding area, and the knowledge he presented them with was invaluable.  Finrod was beginning to understand why the king kept him in such close counsel.

            Meanwhile, Artanis was spending the majority of her waking hours with Melian and Lúthien.  She was eager to learn the customs of Doriath, and the queen and her daughter were only too happy to teach her.  Artanis and Melian would also spend great amounts of time recalling life in Valinor.  They had different reasons for leaving, but both of them missed the Blessed Realm regardless.  The topic of departing from Valinor came up only once and was never discussed again.

            "You are not an exile," Artanis had pointed out.  "You could return if you desired."

            "And maybe one day I will," Melian replied.  She sighed and began twirling a section of her dark hair around her finger.  "But that day will not come for many years, if it comes at all.   My Elu saw the Undying Lands and the light of the Two Trees himself, and yet he is content here."

            "Then you remain here for his sake," Artanis said.  "You stay when you could be happier elsewhere."

            A flash of anger appeared in Melian's eyes, the first Artanis had ever seen.  "I stay here because I love him, and as long as I am where he is, I will be joyful.  Someday you, too, will find someone, Artanis, and you will learn that some loves are stronger than others."

            Artanis didn't agree with the queen, but she knew better than to try and contest it at this time.

            In between studying with Melian and Lúthien, Artanis offered what help she could to her brother, and consequently, ended up spending a lot of time with Celeborn, as Finrod felt they had an understanding and that they would work well together.  He could not have been more right; the two of them would accomplish more in one day than the other teams did in three.  Finrod was delighted with their progress and was beginning to feel they could move the date for their assault up.  Then, a few days before they were to return to the border to meet with the other Noldor, one of the marchwardens came to Menegroth bearing a message to Finrod from Celebrimbor.

            _You must come to us immediately,_ Celebrimbor had written in haste on a piece of parchment.  _There is something you will very pleased to see_.

            Within hours of receiving Celebrimbor's message, Finrod and his companions were ready to depart.  All of Menegroth came to see the nine of them off: Finrod, Orodreth, Aegnor, Angrod, Artanis, Valendil, Celeborn, and two members of Thingol's court who had participated greatly in the planning, Saeros and Elecon.  After receiving horses from the king and protection from the queen, they rode out of the city, Valendil and Finrod leading.  The sun was setting behind them as they set out, and although they initially expressed caution about traveling through the forest at night, they decided it was worth the risk; the marchwardens would be on patrol, and Elbereth's stars sparkled overhead and watched them from afar.  They would be safe this night.

            From the back of her horse, Caladroch, Artanis watched as Finrod and Valendil conversing between themselves at the head of the procession.  She could not hear what they were saying, but she was certain it had something to do with the assault.  She loved her brother dearly, but the only topics that seemed to keep his interest were planning, strategy, tactics, and the like.  She enjoyed discussing such things from time to time, but it was difficult to get Finrod to think of anything else.  Apparently, Valendil could not be brought to talk about other things, either, and she smiled, feeling that despite their rocky beginning, Finrod had found a friend in this Sindarin soldier.

            There were many friends to be found in Doriath, and that turned her thoughts as well as her eyes to one she had made.  Celeborn was riding three or four strides ahead of her on a horse named Alagos; a few feet behind Elecon, allowing the latter's horse to guide the former's, as he could not do it on his own.  He was silent, and rode stiffly, sitting straight up, and his hands holding the reins loosely at the base of the animal's neck.  He faced straight forward, and his eyes were closed, making him look as though he was lost in thought.  The Sun had long since set, and now Tilion guided the Moon along its wayward path.  Its silver light on Celeborn's hair made it shine brighter than usual.  _He is beautiful_, Artanis thought.  She rarely used the word "beautiful" in the masculine sense, but for him, it seemed right.  He could not be described any other way.

            She felt a sudden urge to speak with him, and urged Caladroch forward.  The young, energetic horse was only too eager to comply, and quickened his pace until they were alongside Celeborn and she pulled him back to a walk.  Celeborn heard them coming and turned his head, opening his unseeing eyes.  "Yes?" he said.

            At that moment, Artanis forgot everything she was going to say.  "I'm sorry," she said, feeling rather foolish.  "I did not mean to bother you."

            He relaxed his body and smiled.  "You are not a bother, Artanis.  Just knowing you are near is a comfort." 

            She smiled, too; a smile that, over the course of the last few weeks, had become reserved only for him, though he would never know.

            "Does Finrod know why… Celebrimbor, isn't it – why Celebrimbor sent for him?"

            "No," she answered.  "We know nothing other than it will probably make us very happy; at least that's what Finrod thinks."

            "Does Celebrimbor know his mind well?"

            "As well as I can be expected, I suppose," Artanis said.  "He is one of the few Fëanorians who appears to be at least partially sane."

            Few things in a person's voice escaped his ears, and the undertone of bitterness in hers was no exception.  "The Fëanorians are your kinsmen, Aratanis," he said.  "Would you speak ill of them?"

            "I would," she replied, not bothering to hide the spite.  "Consumed by the lust for those cursed gems, falling into madness, killing-"  She stopped herself just in time.  To the best of their knowledge, the Elves of Doriath did not know about the kinslaying at Alqualondë, and the children of Finarfin had no intent to make it known.

            Celeborn, however, was as alert as ever.  "Killing?" he repeated.  "What are you talking about?"

            She was saved from answering when Finrod and Valendil suddenly pulled their horses to a stop, causing the whole party to halt.  "What is it?" Saeros asked.

            Valendil held up his hand in a motion for silence.  Caladroch stomped his foot impatiently.  "Ssh," Artanis whispered to her horse, stroking his neck.  Her touch did little to calm him, and looking around, she noticed that the other horses were restless, too.  And then she heard it: a howl in the distance.

            "Wolves," said Aegnor.

            "We should keep moving," said Orodreth.

            "No," Valendil said, dismounting from his horse.  He walked over to a tree, placed his hand on the trunk, and listened for a few moments.  No more howls were heard, but he knew better than to trust the silence.  He knelt down, ran his fingers over the ground near the tree's roots, then stood up again.  "They lie ahead of us, along the path that we would take.  We must backtrack and find another route.  We are making good time; this will not be too much of a delay if we hurry."

            He was just about to get back on his horse when Celeborn spoke.  "Valendil!"

            Rather than speak to him from that distance, Valendil walked over to the prince.  "Yes?" he said calmly, placing his hand on Alagos' neck.

            Artanis didn't like the tone of his voice, and she watched him carefully as he spoke to Celeborn.

            "You told me last week the wolf population was under control," Celeborn said softly so as not to draw attention to their conversation.  Even Elecon was disregarding them, favoring a discussion with Saeros.  Only Artanis was interested in what they had to say.

            "We can never be certain of their numbers," Valendil said.  "It is impossible."

            "It was not impossible when I was captain," Celeborn said, a challenging undertone to his voice.  "Perhaps my place would have been better filled by Aranesen."

            "If the lieutenant is so important in this area, then perhaps you should consider replacing your brother," Valendil replied.

            "That was unnecessary," Artanis snapped, unable to hold in her anger.  In addition to being Celeborn's brother, Uncómien was her friend.  She would not allow his honor to go undefended.

            Both Celeborn and Valendil turned their heads toward her.  It was Valendil who spoke first.  "You would do well to refrain from offering your opinion when it is not requested, Noldo," he said.

            By this time, even Celeborn was losing his patience.  "And _you _would do well speak more kindly to a lady, _Captain_."

            At that moment, Finrod decided to get involved as well.  He guided his horse, Padanórui, over to the argument and said, "What is the trouble here?"

            "There is no trouble," Valendil said, removing his hand from Alagos and returning to his own horse.

            "There is no trouble," Celeborn echoed in a tired sort of voice.  "We will do as Valendil advised."

            Finrod watched him closely for a few moments, as if expecting him to do something else.  When he did nothing, the eldest son of Finarfin returned to the front of the party.

            Artanis was not pleased at all.  "Why did you say there was no trouble?" she demanded.  "Valendil challenged your authority and insulted your brother!"  Caladroch snorted in agreement.

            "Part of the fault is my own," Celeborn said.  "I should not have provoked him."

            Finrod and Valendil turned their horses in another direction, and the others followed at a pace faster than before.  Artanis directed Caladroch nearer to Elecon's horse and told him that she would take over guiding Alagos.  Elecon acknowledged her statement and rode off to join Saeros and Angrod in conversation.

            "How did you provoke him?" she asked.

            "Aranesen," he answered.

            "Who?"

            "He was my lieutenant before…"

            His voice trailed off, and although she wanted to ask why Valendil became captain instead of Aranesen, she sensed that this was not the time.  She reached over, placed her hand on top of his, and gave it a gentle, friendly squeeze.  He smiled at her, and she at him.   Whether or not this subject would ever arise again seemed unimportant.  All that mattered was the moment, and she did not want it to be ruined.

~~~

            They arrived at the Noldorin camp at dawn, just as they'd hoped.  Celebrimbor and a half dozen others came out to meet them.  Finrod and his entourage dismounted and then made their way over to the exuberant Celebrimbor.  "Welcome, Lord Finrod!" Celebrimbor exclaimed.  "I see you have brought all of Doriath with you!"

            Finrod laughed.  "Not all," he said, and then briefly introduced Celeborn, Valendil, Saeros, and Elecon.

            Celebrimbor extended a welcome to them all, then said to Finrod, "Come; there are some people I believe you will be very glad to see," and led the party over to the main tent.

            "Turgon?" Finrod asked hopefully.

            Celebrimbor laughed and pushed open the front flap of the tent.  "Not just Turgon!"

            The first two people Finrod saw inside the tent were two of his kinsmen, Fingolfin and Maedhros.

            Finrod, of course, was delighted to see them; Fingolfin more than Maedhros, but still glad both were there.  Turgon was there as well, and his brother Fingon.  Greetings were given, introductions were made, and then Finrod asked how and why they came; after all, it was only Turgon's assistance for which they asked.  It was a welcome surprise, but a surprise just the same.

            It was Maedhros who answered the question.  "Celebrimbor's messengers reached Turgon in Nevrast, then he sent word to Fingolfin and Fingon in Hithlum.  Their scouts, too, have reported Orc activity near the Pass of Sirion.  Fingon in turn sent for me, and here we are."

            "Maglor holds the lowlands between Himring and the Ered Luin, but Sirion is unguarded," Fingolfin added.  "Between Fingon, Turgon, Maedhros, and myself, we have a force five thousand strong.  They are camped over the ridge."

            "And _we _have a plan," said Finrod.  He nodded to Saeros, who was carrying a large, rolled-up map.

            "Excellent," said Fingolfin.  "Let us hear it."

            "We'll do better than that," said Elecon as they all moved over to the large table in the middle of the tent.  "We'll show you."

            "Celeborn?" Finrod said as Orodreth and Saeros unrolled the map.

            Celeborn nodded and stepped up to the map.  All eyes were on him as he spoke.  "How much Orc activity has there been…"  He searched his mind for the name.  It was much more difficult to match a name to a voice than a face, and it was one of the few skills he had not yet mastered.  "Maedhros?"

            "Their movement has been slow, but steady," Maedhros answered.  "There are about a thousand camped in the Pass of Sirion, and more are trickling in every day, by land and by boat from Angbad."

            Celeborn sighed and tapped his fingers against the surface of the table.  "This calls from a deviation from our previous plan," he said.  "May I suggest a new course, Finrod?"

            "You may suggest anything you feel like suggesting, Celeborn," Finrod returned.  "You are the one who knows the land best."

            "I underestimated Morgoth's swiftness in taking advantage of that pass," Celeborn said.  "I believed we could take it before he would have a chance to reach it, and in light of this new information, we must alter our plans."  He ran his fingers over the map, then stopped.  "The map is upside-down."

            Saeros and Orodreth apologized and turned it around.  Artanis and Finrod stole a glance at each other, and both had traces of astonishment on their faces.

            "Originally, we were going to strike from here the Ered Wethrin," said Celeborn, touching a spot on the map, then moving his hand several inches to the right, "and here, the Crissaegrim.  However, in light of both our numbers and theirs, I believe we should attack from a third front: the river Sirion itself."

            "Which you originally advised against," Aegnor pointed out.

            "I did, but circumstances were different at that time," Celeborn replied.  "I made sure our plan was flexible in case it would need to be modified once we met Turgon.  Keeping options open is very important in this sort of affair."  He turned his head in the direction Finrod's voice came from and said, "How skilled are your people with boats?"

            Maedhros flinched, and Fingolfin and his sons looked ready to do the same, but stopped themselves just in time.  After the Kinslaying, it was unlikely that the word "boat" would ever carry positive connotations for them again.

            "We are skilled enough," said Turgon, "although we have none of our own."

            "I think I understand where you are going with this, Celeborn," said Valendil, stepping up to the map.  "Attack from the original two fronts, and if they try to flee into Beleriand, they will be met by another army.  They would have no choice but to retreat back into Angbad."

            "Exactly," Celeborn said.  He smiled, and Valendil did, too.  They never spoke of it again, but both knew at that moment that their earlier disagreement had been forgiven and forgotten.

            "Doriath will lend boats," said Elecon.  "The river Esgalduin  meets the Sirion.  I will ride back to Menegroth at once and ready enough soldiers to guide boats to the pass.  We can move swiftly and will arrive at about the same time you do if you move on foot; perhaps even sooner."

            "Then we can send some of our soldiers with you in the boats and then the others into the mountains," Fingon realized.

            "It's a good plan," said Celeborn, nodding in approval.  "It's a very good plan."

            "Shall I be off, then?" Elecon said.

            "In a moment," Celeborn replied.  "We do not want to be detected by them, and we need time to get our people into the mountains.  Our forces must meet somewhere a safe distance away."

            "What about here?" Fingolfin suggested, pointing to a forest on the map.  "The north end of the forest of the Forest of Brethil, where it meets the river."

            Celeborn closed his eyes and thought for a moment, then opened them and said, "Yes, that will do.  It is a safe distance away.  We would need a week for the ground soldiers to position themselves in the mountains and two days for the boats to arrive at the pass from that location.  Are there any more suggestions?"

            Silence, and then Finrod spoke.  "Then this will be our plan."

            "You may go now, Elecon," said Celeborn.

            "Alone?" Angrod said as Elecon moved toward the tent's entrance.

            "I know both this land and my skill with a sword," Elecon replied.  "I will be safe."

            "No, he's right; you should not go alone," Celeborn said.

            "I will go," Valendil offered.

            "Perhaps Artanis should go with you as well," Finrod mused.  He had been against his sister's coming even to the border, and the thought of taking her into battle was not one on which he wished to dwell.

            "Don't be ridiculous, Finrod," Artanis said.  "I am as competent as any of your soldiers in battle."

            He knew she was, but he did not want to risk seeing her fall in battle.  Before he could reply, though, Celeborn spoke.  "We will not be in need of her sword, but a mind such as hers is invaluable on the battlefront," the Sindarin prince added.  "_I_ will be there, and I daresay she is far more useful than I am."

            Finrod sighed.  "Very well." 

            Artanis beamed, and she noticed a small smile on Celeborn's faced as well.

            Elecon and Valendil took their leave of them after that, and Fingon went out as well to lend them fresh horses.  Finrod and Turgon found each other and began talking.  Artanis watched them with a smile on her face.  Her brother and cousin were the same age, and consequently, they were closer to each others' hearts than any other outside their immediate families.  She wanted to go to Celeborn and thank him for standing up to Finrod on her behalf, but he was engaged in conversation with Saeros, and she didn't want to interrupt.  She promised herself she would thank him later, and, feeling trapped inside the crowded tent, decided to go outside for some fresh air.  She'd always loved being outside during and after sunrise.

            Outside, the air was fresh and cool, and the light of the early morning danced on the dew in the grass.  She smiled and turned her eyes toward her old friend Arien, steering the Sun across the sky.  The Sun was more than light; it was a symbol of life, letting them know that no matter how dark the night was, the light would always triumph.  And it was going to be a beautiful day.

~~~

Marshmallows for my reviewers: Skycat14, Galorin, Nevdoiel, Arinya, Morelen, AngelQueen, Riwen, and Musical misfit!

And yes, there will be battles – the Dagor Aglareb is going to take place in the next two chapters, actually.  Battles are so much fun to write.  :o)


	8. The Glorious Battle, Part One

A/N: A thousand apologies for taking so long. In addition to writer's block, Freelancer-the-astrophysics-major wasn't quite getting the grades she wanted, so school took priority. But now that school's out, the next chapter should show up relatively soon. I guess we'll find out. I'm rather happy with the depth of this chapter, and the next one will be almost all battle. Yay.

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Chapter Eight: The Glorious Battle, Part I 

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A week later, everything was in place at the forest of Brethil. Elecon was true to his word, and twelve boats, each capable of bearing fifty soldiers, were anchored in the Sirion. Finrod, Maedhros, Fingolfin, and his sons were off deciding who would go where. Artanis had been with them for a few hours, but soon grew bored; there was little she could do with them. She wanted to find Celeborn. They hadn't spoken much during the journey across Beleriand to this point; he'd been stolen by Finrod and Turgon and she by Celebrimbor. Now that she had successfully extricated herself from the eyes of her admirer and Celeborn was no longer in the company of those who desired to take advantage of his shrewd military mind, perhaps they would be able to find a moment with each other.

As her feet wandered around the large camp at the edge of the forest, so did her mind. Her thoughts dwelt in Valinor for a moment, with her father, who was now king. She wondered how he and the few Noldor who remained in Aman were faring. Finarfin was a quiet, gentle soul who never desired to rule, although his marriage to a Telerin princess suggested otherwise. He was the youngest of the kings, too, but through him and him alone, the Three Kindreds were unified; Ingwë, king of the Vanyar, was his uncle and the king of the Teleri, Olwë, was his father-in-law. In many ways, it was almost fitting that Finarfin son of Finwë should become king of the Noldor; fitting in a cruel, ironic way. The title would never have been his if his family hadn't been torn apart.

Thinking about her father was painful, and she quickly turned her mind to something else. Something outside her family. Something that could soothe her heart.

She thought of Celeborn.

It had barely been a month since they met, but it felt like years. She'd always been able to make friends quickly, but her friendship with Celeborn was different. Their first meeting had not been what she would call perfect, but their rough beginning was smoothed out hours later by his grace and charm. He was not only different from anyone she'd ever met before, but anyone who ever lived – there was no one else in all of Arda who was suffering from permanent blindness. But the disability was not the first thing about him that intrigued her, and nor was it the most prominent. He had the power to endure and overcome impossible hardships. He had the makings of a king.

She couldn't find him with the other Sindar, and asked Saeros if he'd seen him. Saeros said Celeborn had gone down to sit by the river. Artanis thanked him and walked down to the banks of the Sirion. Sure enough, there he was, underneath a willow tree some fifty yards upstream from where she was. Further up the river, the boats floated, but there was no one else nearby. They were alone.

He heard her coming while she was still a good distance away and smiled. "Good morning, Artanis."

"How did you know it was me?" she asked as she drew closer.

"Well, unless any of your friends have some strange habits that I am not aware of, you are the only one here wearing a dress."

She laughed and sat down next to him. "How long have you been here?"

"Not long, and I do not believe much longer," Celeborn answered. "Peace and quiet is desirable from time to time, but I only need enough of it to remind me that it is not something I greatly enjoy."

"Really? And why is that?"

He sighed and felt around in the grass. "I don't know," he admitted. He found a small stone and picked it up. "My brothers and I were raised this way – to be soldiers, always on the move. Tranquility is not something to which we are accustomed." He chuckled softly and rotated the stone between his thumb and forefinger. "I wonder what my father would think if he could see me now."

His words caught her by surprise. "He… he doesn't know you're…"

"Blind?" He threw the stone into the river. "No. He died two years before it happened."

"I am sorry to hear that."

"You should not be. I am not." He sighed again and ran a hand through his silver hair. "I barely knew him. We did not see eye-to-eye. This … _drive_ of his… his determination to make his sons the finest soldiers in Doriath… it tore our family apart. Did I ever tell you that Uncómien and Galathil are my half-brothers?"

"No." She _had_ noticed that Uncómien and Galathil looked more like each other than they did Celeborn, though.

"They are. My mother died when I was just a year old. Wolves. The circumstances surrounding their mother's death are mysterious, but some believe my father's ambition drove her to take her own life."

She gasped. "No…"

"I'm sorry. You must think my family is mad now."

Artanis shook her head. If any family was mad, it was hers. "There is one in every family," she said. Fëanor was the first person to come to mind, but he was not the only one she could name; even her own was among those she thought of. "Do not let your father's actions define who you will one day become."

He smiled. "I am trying."

She sighed and looked at the reflection of the sunlight dancing on the river. Water and sunlight were two of her favorite things. But when water was running red with blood, as it was when the Fëanorians slaughtered the Teleri at Alqualond She closed her eyes and tried to force the images out of her head, but she could not. Instead of Alqualondë, her mind conjured an image of the river Sirion flowing with the blood of five thousand Elves marching to their deaths.

"Celeborn," she said, "do you think… will we succeed?"

"Yes," he replied, and nodded. "Yes, I think we will. The armies are strong, and the Enemy is being taken completely by surprise. By the time they realize what is happening, the battle will be half over."

That was reassuring, but she still could not shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen to someone she loved. She decided not to pursue the subject further. The last thing he needed was the added weight of her needless fears on his mind. "Thank you," she said. "I just had to hear it from you."

Their heads turned toward each other, and for a moment that lasted no longer than a heartbeat, Artanis wondered what it would be like to kiss him. She was attracted to him in both mind and body, but dare she hope that she would ever be anything more than a friend? Celeborn was blind, but his disability did not alter his station: he was a prince of the greatest kingdom in Beleriand and second in line to the throne. She came from a noble line, but all the status her birthright bequeathed her had been abandoned the moment she left Aman. Here, she was nothing but an exile.

"There you are!" came a voice from behind.

The voice belonged to Finrod. Artanis and Celeborn stood to greet him, and she noticed that her brother had a spring to his step. "What is it?" she asked.

Finrod was beaming. "We're ready to move out."

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"These are the soldiers we'll be sending on the boats," Turgon was saying to Elecon and Valendil as Finrod, Artanis, and Celeborn entered the main tent. "They're all experienced in handling watercraft and combat from that front. We'll divide the remainder between the two of you and Saeros to lead into either mountain." It had already been established that the Sindar would take on the task of leading the Noldor to the location; they knew the land and therefore could get them much closer before being detected.

"Ah, Finrod, Artanis, Celeborn," Fingolfin said as his kinsmen and the Sindar prince came in. "Welcome."

"How are we faring?" Finrod asked.

"Excellent," Turgon answered, and gave Valendil a scroll. "These are the ones we'll be sending on the water."

Valendil thanked him and looked over it. "Thank you." He put the scroll down and looked up. "Elecon, I would like you to lead the boats, and I will take a company into the Crissaegrim. Celeborn, would you be willing to go with Saeros into the Ered Wethrin?"

Celeborn nodded.

"Then we'll send Maedhros, Fingon, and Aegnor into the Crissaegrim, Turgon, Angrod, and myself into the Ered Wethrin, and Finrod and Orodreth with the boats," Fingolfin said. "Are there any objections?"

"What about me?" Artanis asked.

A look of surprise crossed Fingolfin's face as he looked at his niece. "You wish to go into battle?"

"Boats," Finrod said firmly, knowing his sister would not stand down for anything in the world. Besides, he wanted her to keep her as far from harm as possible, and the boats would be the safest option. "Artanis will go with the boats."

Artanis would have preferred to be with those going into the mountains, but there was no time to argue.

Fingolfin gave a conclusive sigh and looked around at his kinsmen and allies. "Then let's move out. We attack at dawn of the seventh day. May we see each other soon."

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Light.

The Orc named Dûrag hissed as his eyes fell upon the pale glow of the impending dawn in the east. He, like all his kind, hated and feared light, and even here, in the shadow of mountains on either side, they were not safe from the fire of the Sun. He hated the location, too. The Pass of Sirion was far too small to accommodate four thousand Orcs. They could not get into Beleriand through the open land between Himring and the Ered Luin because of the efforts of Fëanor's son Maglor – Dûrag had lost count of how many times the echo of his master's voice screaming that name rang through Utumno. Melkor had always been the type to hold a grudge, but his hate was even greater when it came to the Fëanorians.

Dûrag cast a long look at the ridge of the Crissaegrim mountains to his right and sniffed the air. There was no sign of any danger, but his instincts told him there was reason to be wary. He hoped Sauron had not decided to send another Balrog to the site; only a few days ago, Gothmaug himself had appeared and demanded to know why they had not yet invaded Beleriand. Dûrag hated Balrogs too. He hated everything. He lived and breathed hate. It was all he'd ever known.

Another Orc soon appeared at this side, a squat, dirty creature named Glaruk. "What do you sense?" Glaruk asked.

Dûrag grunted and poked the muddy ground with the end of his spear. "There's something out there."

A sudden hissing sound in the distance quickly grew louder. Dûrag didn't even realize it was an arrow until it struck Glaruk in the forehead. The other Orc held his position for a moment, eyes wide with shock, and then fell.

The arrow that hit Glaruk was the first of a shower that began to rain down from the Crissaegrim. Dûrag let out a cry of alarm and stumbled backwards, holding up his arm to shield himself from the arrows. "We're under attack!" he yelled, and began running back to the main encampment. "Take up arms!"

He felt an arrow hit him in the side, and he fell to his knees. Dûrag reached for the arrow in hopes to remove it, but then another one struck his chest. Howling with pain, the Orc threw his head around wildly, trying to see where these enemies were coming from. That side was not exposed to the Crissaegrim! Why had he been hit?

He pulled the arrow out of his chest and looked at the shaft. It was an Elvish design; Noldor, from the looks of it. But how could the Noldor have reached here if all their strength was being spent holding back Angbad's other wave?

He reached for the other arrow, the one in his side, and cried out in frustration when he recognized its design: Sindar. That was how they were able to come here and take them by surprise! The Noldor would never have been able to do it on their own. They would pay for this. They would all pay.

But he, Dûrag, would not be the one to collect payment. A third arrow hit him, and whether it was Noldor or Sindar, he would never know. His eyes closed, and he knew no more. Not even hate.

Glaruk was the first. Dûrag was not the second. Nor would he be the last.

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The Elven camp hidden in a small valley in the Ered Wethrin just below the ridge that stood over the pass below was all but deserted; occupied now by only Celeborn and the two soldiers Fingolfin insisted stay with the Sindarin prince and keep him updated on the status of the battle. It was nearly noon now, and although the Elves had the advantages of both surprise and light, the Orcs were putting up a greater fight than they'd anticipated. Though an Elven victory was almost guaranteed, the Orcs were not going to make it easy. Their enemies would not retreat. They would fight until their last breath and there were none left to die.

Celeborn, like all his kind, hated Orcs. However, unlike most, he held a degree of mixed respect and pity for his enemies. He pitied them because of the one whom they were forced to serve, and he respected them because they were unafraid to die. It was very rare for the Elves to take prisoners, especially when Orcs were concerned, but every time an Orc had been taken prisoner, they had never begged for mercy or for their captors to spare their lives. They did not know compassion or forgiveness, but they did know life, and no living thing, be he Elf, Orc, Dwarf, Maia, Balrog, Vala, Eagle, tree, or any other race, truly desired for their own life to end. Celeborn knew that even as his stepmother Arindë drove a sword's blade through her own heart, it was not death she was seeking, but rather, the only way she could think of to send a message to her husband in hopes that he would see the error of his ways before it cost him the lives of his sons as well.

Arindë did not die for death, but for love and for life. Celeborn often wondered whether or not he would love anyone enough to be capable of such an act. As a soldier, he'd sworn to die for king and country if need be, but that was a different sort of life and death. Would he die for his brothers? Uncómien had certainly known death was not just possible, but even likely when he rescued Celeborn from the Orcs that blinded him thirty years ago, but Galadhon's youngest son had not gone in with the intention of dying. Was that all love was – death?

Life did not permit Celeborn to continue his musings for long. He heard the sound of falling rocks outside his tent, and curiosity overtook him. "Artirno? Heldafion?" he said, calling the names of the two Noldorin soldiers.

"Prince Celeborn!" one of them cried; he did not yet know them well enough to discern between them. "Ru – aaaaaaaaaah!"

Instantly, Celeborn's remaining senses heightened with the knowledge of danger. The voice that shouted the warning had come from the left, so he ran to the right. Even as he ran, he knew he would not get far. He did not know how many were there, but he did know that a blind former soldier had no chance for escape.

He felt pain first. A sharp, stabbing sensation in his shoulder.

Then he felt the cold, hard ground, and a rock against his skull.

_I never told her I love her._

And then nothing at all.

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Gold stars for my reviewers: Morelen, Saint, Marnie, Arinya, AngelQueen, Nevdoiel, Skycat14, Galorin, ravyn, Tenshi Androgynous, Aenigmatic, blue bunny, Amydion, Melkor, and all the people that bugged me via AIM and/or e-mail. :o)

Translations:

Artirno – "noble watcher"

Heldafion – "naked hawk" (Don't ask. I was being random and having way too much fun with the dictionaries.)

Arindë – No translation that I am aware of; again with the randomness.


	9. The Glorious Battle, Part Two

I said "damn the formatting" so much last time because The Powers That Be (aka fan fiction dot net) had just switched to its new formatting thingamajig and I couldn't get it to work right. Maybe someday I'll go back and fix it, but for now, you'll just have to settle with… Chapter Nine! And I know you're all just DYING to know what happened to Celeborn (cue groan), but you get some fight scenes first, which, ironically enough, are always either extremely easy or extremely difficult for me to write. (Judging by the time it took me to get this up, we can all assume it was the latter. It didn't help that my boyfriend broke my computer and I had to start the half-written chapter over again, either.) The stuff that goes on is a little bit much for the PG rating I've given the story, but don't worry, it's not insanely graphic.

I cannot believe that the spell check on MS Word actually has "thingamajig" in its word list. That is just too funny.

* * *

Chapter Nine: The Glorious Battle, Part II

* * *

"Turgon! Behind you!"

At the sound of his father's voice, Turgon wheeled around and lifted his sword just in time to stop an orc-blade from slicing him in half. Then with a great heave, Turgon cast the orc aside, placed a kick in his chest, and drove his sword through his enemy's back. Just a few feet away, Fingolfin, wielding twin blades, had just finished separating the head of another orc from his body. The two of them had no time to congratulate themselves or each other; more orcs were coming with every passing moment. Their enemies realized that Fingolfin and Turgon were among the leaders of the Elves, and singled them out. More effort would be put into killing them, and father and son knew that if they expected to survive, they would have to fight back even harder.

Back to back they stood, as a dozen orcs formed a circle around them. Turgon raised his sword, and Fingolfin twirled, then crossed his blades. "Will we be able to defeat them all?" Turgon asked in a whisper. The twelve around them were armed only with swords and shields, but archers in the distance were sure to notice before long.

Fingolfin narrowed his eyes. "Oh, yes."

The High King made the first move, using his small swords to cut off the sword-hand of an orc in a crossing motion. His disarmed enemy stumbled backwards and allowed enough exposure for Fingolfin to slip one blade below his armor, and with the other, slash him across the face. Two more orcs came at him at the same time, one from either side. Fingolfin leapt forward and did a somersault out of harm's way, and the orcs could not stop in time and became entangled. A blade was driven into each at the exposed area between the chest armor and the helmet. Fingolfin pulled his weapons out, and the two orcs fell to the ground next to the body of the first.

Turgon's weapon of choice was not as nimble as his father's, but Fingolfin's younger son made up for agility in strength. He struck only seconds after the High King, dropping to one knee and bringing the blade of his sword through the knees of an oncoming orc, then finishing the job by bringing the hilt of the sword down on his foe's head like a hammer.

Another orc came at Turgon and raised his sword as if to strike, but Turgon caught him by the wrist before the servant of darkness was able to bring it down. The two wrestled for a few moments, and then Turgon pulled his knee to his chest, fell to his back, placed his foot on the orc's chest, and kicked, sending his enemy flying backwards. In the blink of an eye, Turgon was on his feet again, and the blade of his sword found its way into the throat of misery's embodiment.

With half their enemies vanquished with only a few strikes, Fingolfin and Turgon found each other again; the three blades between the two of them stained with black blood. A Sindarin arrow found the eye of one, leaving five still standing. Two rushed Turgon and three Fingolfin; seconds later, after a flurry of steel and speed, the Elves were the only ones left standing.

"Good work," Fingolfin told his son. He shook his blades and spattered the ground with blood.

"Thank you."

* * *

Fingolfin and Turgon separated after that; Fingolfin choosing to fight his own battle, and Turgon seeking out another he could aid. It did not take long for him to find a situation. Half a dozen orcs had formed an arc around Maedhros and trapped him with his back to a large boulder. Maedhros, though he had a valiant heart and would fight as bravely as a king, was hindered by the fact that he had only one hand. Turgon feared that his cousin, standing there facing six orcs with a sword in his naturally weaker left hand, would soon meet his end. But before the son of Fingolfin could interfere, the orcs struck the first blow.

Two of them came at Maedhros at once, swinging their wide, heavy swords from overhead. Maedhros held up his own sword to block the strikes, but the force from them was so strong it knocked him to the ground. The agile elf rolled backwards and then leapt to his feet, covered in mud but unhurt and ready to keep fighting.

Again, two orcs came at Maedhros, but their strategy was different this time. One of them swung high, and the other low. This attack was less effective than the first. Maedhros ducked to block the low strike with his sword, and in doing so, the orc that struck high missed him completely, and the momentum from his blow caused him to spin completely around. Maedhros kicked him in the back of the knee, and the orc lost his balance and fell onto his own sword. Then Maedhros took advantage of the split second his second assailant spent in watching his partner fall and drove the tip of sword deep into the orc's throat.

The four remaining orcs hesitated before attacking, suddenly not so sure about going up against this elf who wasn't as weak as he looked, and Turgon knew that was his opening. He raised his sword, and with a great cry, brought the blade down on the head of an orc. The orc collapsed, and when the other three turned their heads to see what had happened, Maedhros struck. One of them was dead before he even knew Maedhros's sword had found him, and a second did not have much time to react to a blow from Turgon. The third jabbed at Maedhros, but he blocked it easily, and Turgon sliced the orc across the face.

"Well done," Maedhros said to his younger cousin.

Turgon found it more than a little odd that Maedhros was the one congratulating _him_; after all, _he_ wasn't the one who was missing a hand. "Thank you. You did well, too." It was the truth. Just because Maedhros was forced to use his weak hand didn't mean that Maedhros himself was weak.

Maedhros grinned and tossed his head, shaking muddy locks of his auburn hair off his face. "Look. They want some more."

Sure enough, more orcs were assuming the places held by their fallen companions. Turgon knew they were capable of defeating this set just as easily as the first, but a third wave would not be as easy to hold back. They just kept _coming_… where were the boats?

Turgon spent too long thinking. An orc struck at him, and though he reacted in enough time to keep the heavy steel blade from slicing through his flesh, he was unable to brace for the impact and fell. The blade of another sword nearly met his neck, but he was able to roll to the side just in time. He had only climbed to his knees before being forced to block another sword, which he did with a circular motion. That left the neck open, and the elf took advantage of the opportunity.

"There are too many!" Maedhros said as he dodged a strike.

"We've got to get away from this cliff!" said Turgon. "They'll trap us against it!"

Maedhros raised his sword in preparation to charge, but before he could begin his attack, an arrow tore through the flesh of his right thigh and embedded itself in the bone. He cried out in pain and surprise and dropped to his knees. An orc rushed at him, and Maedhros was able to penetrate through the lower part of the orc's armor, but after withdrawing his sword, he knew he could not continue.

"Maedhros!" Turgon exclaimed. Knowing he had to protect his fallen cousin, the elder placed his blade between Maedhros and an orc-sword, then struck the enemy with his elbow. "Maedhros, can you stand?"

Maedhros clenched his teeth and pulled out the arrow with a sharp yank. He tried to rise, but the pain was too great, and he fell again. "I cannot," he said.

"Help!" Turgon shouted above the roar of battle. "Maedhros has fallen! Help!"

Turgon caught sight of another arrow flying at them and feared it was meant for him, but it missed by several feet. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the tail of the arrow sticking out of the forehead of an orc. Then he gasped. The arrow had the markings of the Noldor!

Turgon looked forward again, looking for the one who had shot the arrow, and what he saw lifted his heart.

The archer was Finrod.

The boats had come at last.

* * *

With the addition of six hundred rested, battle-ready elves, what little hope their was for the orcs at the beginning was now lost. Standing on the bow of the largest ship, Artanis felt a glow of pride as she watched her friends and kinsmen drive the forces of Morgoth back into Angbad. Celeborn's plan was brilliant. The Elves were outnumbered, and even with their superior skill in battle, victory was not ensured without the element of surprise, which Celeborn had provided them with. Artanis smiled to herself. The Noldor would forever be grateful to him for this.

Movement on the deck caught her eye, and she turned around, only to see two Sindarin soldiers carrying the mud-spattered, bloody Maedhros. She gasped and sprinted toward her cousin. "Maedhros!" she said. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Artanis," he assured her. "It's only a leg wound."

"I will fetch a healer," said the Sinda supporting his left side.

Artanis took his place under Maedhros's left arm, then asked what happened.

"An arrow," Maedhros said. "Finrod killed several orcs and enabled help to reach me after I had fallen, but the real hero is Turgon. He came to my aid when I was trapped against the cliff and protected me when I was hurt."

She smiled. Fingolfin and his sons were known for being exceptionally valiant. "Where is Finrod?" she asked. "Have you seen him?"

"I saw him fighting alongside Valendil as I was came aboard," he said. Then he smiled. "It was glorious… such a pair of warriors could not be found if they had been Tulkas and Eönwë themselves."

Artanis smiled, too. "As long as Finrod's skill in battle is great enough to let him walk away from it, I shall be glad."

"It is," Maedhros assured her as she and the Sinda set him down. The Sinda that had gone below deck returned, and close behind him was the healer, a dark-haired Noldorin woman named Navarië. "Victory _will_ be ours, Artanis. It is only a question of when."

Even as he spoke, the orc generals were calling for retreat.

* * *

By sunset, the Pass of Sirion was emptied of every orc, alive or dead, and the elven leaders gave their exhausted troops permission for a well-deserved rest and celebration. Healers tended to the wounded and reported statistics to Fingolfin. The High King was pleased with what he was told. Their losses had been minimal, and though some were seriously injured, there were no critical cases, nor were any anticipated. Maedhros was expected to regain full use of his leg within two weeks' time. The Battle of Tol Sirion would forever be known as glorious.

It had already been decided that the duty of guarding the newly-taken region would fall to Finrod, and the eldest son of Finarfin was looking forward to establishing a stronghold. He promised that as soon as he returned to Doriath, he would begin designing the fortress that would stand on the isle in the middle of the pass. When the subject of Doriath was brought up, Artanis spoke, saying they should go to the camp in the Ered Wethrin where Celeborn waited and bring him down so that he might share in the victory. Her suggestion was accepted, and moments later, a party consisting of herself, Finrod, Turgon, Valendil, and Saeros was assembled. The five of them took leave of the others and began the ascent into the mountains.

No darkness was on their hearts as they climbed, and the Noldor laughed and sang as they not had since departing from the bliss of Valinor. As they drew closer to the camp, Artanis felt a special feeling of excitement. She had not seen Celeborn since her departure from the forest of Brethil seven days earlier, the longest amount of time they had spent apart since meeting, and she could not remember her life before him.

"The camp is just over this ridge," Valendil said as they picked their way over a series of large boulders, then came onto a trail leading up the mountain.

Their joyful mood vanished when they came over the rise and saw their camp burned.

"Eru Almighty!" Finrod exclaimed, unable to control himself. His shouts echoed throughout the mountains, repeating his shocked cry back to him.

"What happened here?" Turgon asked.

Valendil noticed a depression in one of the shrubs along the side of the trail and knelt down next to it, feeling it with his fingers. "Orcs," he realized.

Artanis gasped. "Celeborn…"

"Wait!" Finrod said. "There might still be some down there!"

But she was long gone.

* * *

Shortbread cookies from Fred Meyer for my reviewers: Arinya, Marnie, Neige, Aenigmatic, AngelQueen, Nevdoiel, Morelen, chocchip, Melkor, Always-a-kiwi, Bow, Bluebunny, gazabo, Neko Oni, Nathalia Potter, Becky, MeMyselfAndMe, and Riwen!

Why yes, I DO have a thing for writing stories about people overcoming disabilities.

Turgon's sword wasn't Glamdring (although I couldn't help sneaking in an allusion… hehehe), because according to _The Hobbit_, Glamdring wasn't made until Gondolin, and this battle is like, a hundred years pre-Gondolin. That kinda irks me because it would have been fun to write something with Turgon waving Glamdring around, but that's all right because it's entirely possible Turgon wasn't even AT this battle. Turgon got to be here because I like him. Characters I like get to kick butt.

I want a sword…


	10. Galadriel

A/N: Wow, another chapter ALREADY? This is some kind of record. Of course, it helped that I already had more than half of it written… Ahem. Shippers, I think this one'll make you happy. This is actually my favorite chapter so far, and I hope you guys like it too. :o)

* * *

Chapter Ten: Galadriel

* * *

Tears of panic filled her eyes and made it difficult to see as Artanis searched the wreckage of the camp for her beloved friend. The charred remains of the main tent showed no sign that a body had been burned along with it, which gave her both hope and despair; the former that he might still be alive, and the latter that his body had been reduced to ash. She was beginning to fear the worst. What if he died before-

"There!" came Turgon's voice. "Over by that rock!"

Her heart lifted. Could it be…

"It's Celeborn!" Finrod announced. "He's alive, and I think he's awake!"

Artanis dropped to her knees and covered her face in an attempt to hide her tears of relief. She was successful, but the comforting touch on Saeros's hand on her shoulder a few moments later told her that it didn't take tears to show how she felt.

Saeros helped her stand, and they began walking over to where Finrod, Turgon, and Valendil were assembled around a crumpled heap on the ground. Artanis recognized the familiar silver and white glint of Celeborn's robes, gasped, and closed the remaining distance between herself and the others as fast as she could. When she saw him, though, the joy that had filled her upon learning he was alive vanished. There were numerous amounts of cuts and bruises on his face and neck, but that was the least of their concerns. Two large, black arrows protruded from his stomach and left side, staining the area with blood. Finrod was kneeling on Celeborn's other side, talking to Turgon. Both their faces were grave.

Artanis found Celeborn's dirty, bloody hand and gripped it tightly, shocked at how cold it was. "Celeborn?" she said. "Can you hear me?"

He made a sound that sounded like a combination of a moan and a sigh.

"I don't know how much we can do for him," said Turgon. "Not here, anyway."

"If we can get him to Doriath, Queen Melian can help him," said Artanis.

"Artanis," Valendil said gently, "we're seven days' ride from Doriath. He'll be dead long before then."

"How can you say that?" she said loudly, her voice bordering on losing its control. "He's your friend, Valendil! Your _captain_! How can your hope fade so quickly?"

Valendil had not been expecting such a harsh reaction from her, and he took a step back, looking slightly offended.

"I will run back down and fetch a healer at once," Turgon promised, more out of fear of his cousin's wrath than belief that they could save the prince of Doriath. He did agree with Artanis on one aspect of her suggestion to return him to Thingol's realm: if there was evil magic in the wounds, only Melian could save him.

Finrod, who had been examining Celeborn's injuries, looked up and said, "There appears to be no poisoning, and although there is significant internal damage, he may be able to survive if we get help soon."

> "I will give my own blood if I must," Artanis said fervently.

"I do not believe that will be necessary," said Finrod, "although I am sure he appreciates your… dedication."

Celeborn then made a sound that strongly resembled a chuckle.

"Hold still," Artanis instructed. "You cannot afford to lose any more blood."

He was silent and still after that, but she was certain his grip on her hand grew stronger.

"What was the name of the woman who helped Maedhros?" Saeros asked. "She did well."

"Navarië," Turgon replied, "and she is among our most skilled healers. I will bring her if I can, but time is against us. If I cannot find her right away, I will have to bring someone else."

He left them at those words and began running down the mountain.

"Where are Heldafion and Artirno?" Finrod asked, referring to the Noldorin soldiers who had been ordered to stay with Celeborn.

"Here," Valendil called from behind a boulder. He climbed on top of the boulder and into view. "There are three orc carcasses with them, and fewer footprints leading away than toward. I think there were six, maybe seven at the most."

"Two elves are more than a match for seven orcs," Finrod mused. "Unless…"

Celeborn made an incoherent noise.

"What was that?" Artanis asked, leaning in close to him.

He repeated what he said, only slightly less garbled.

It was enough for her. When she sat up again, anger was etched into the ridges and valleys of her strong face. "It seems we are not the only ones who know the advantages of surprise," she said.

"But _how_?" asked Saeros. "The orcs in the pass were not aware of us."

"Scouts in the mountains," Valendil hypothesized. "They must have noticed the camp."

"But why would they not warn those in the valley?" asked Artanis.

"Orcs are not known for loyalty, even to each other," Saeros said. "But we had scouts of our own, and none of them reported any orc sightings…"

"A curious situation," said Finrod, "and one that will have to be investigated."

"But one that is not important now," Artanis said, who was slowly losing a battle of her own: fighting back tears. "He's so cold…"

"We should get him out of the mud," Saeros suggested.

Artanis nodded. "Finrod, Valendil, can you lift him without causing him great pain?"

"Only if you have an idea," Finrod replied, kneeling down next to Celeborn. Valendil did the same.

"I do." She unfastened the green traveling cloak around her shoulders and tossed one end to Saeros. "Lift him."

Celeborn moaned softly as Finrod and Valendil lifted him, but they did not have to hold him long. Artanis and Saeros quickly spread out her cloak below him, and he was set down. "We should support his head," said Valendil.

Artanis situated herself so that she was kneeling directly above Celeborn's head, and she let it rest in her lap. "Is that all right?" she asked.

His eyelids fluttered, and he made a sound that sounded more like "yes" than "no."

"Hold on," she whispered. Her falling tears left trails in the dirt and blood on his face. "Just hold on."

* * *

Turgon returned with Navarië shortly after moonrise, and not long afterwards, more elves arrived, among them Fingolfin, Orodreth, Elecon, and Celebrimbor, and with them they brought supplies to build a new tent and provide Navarië with any supplies she might need. A tent was constructed within an hour, and Navarië disappeared into it with Celeborn. None were permitted to disturb her while she worked for fear that it would break her concentration. Navarië later said that she was amazed Celeborn had survived that long, that anyone else would have given into the injuries shortly after they had been inflicted, and that he must have something extraordinary to live for.

It was dawn by the time Navarië emerged from the tent. "How is he?" Artanis demanded to know. "Is he alive? Will he be all right?"

Navarië smiled, pleased by her enthusiasm. "He is doing well," she reported. "He is asleep now, I believe, but he told me he wishes to see you when he can."

"I'm sure he does," Celebrimbor said, more loudly than he intended.

Artanis glared at him. "You know what she meant."

"But does she?" Finrod asked quietly.

She glared at her brother next, as if to say _What, you too?_

> "What do you mean?" the confused Navarië asked.

"It is not a matter of concern," Artanis said quickly. "Please, let me see him."

Navarië nodded and stepped to the side, allowing Artanis to go in. A table had been covered with a blanket, and Celeborn placed on top of it, with another blanket covering the lower half of his body. Bandages covered part of his exposed upper body. His eyes were closed, and his face was peaceful, as if he were asleep and having a pleasant dream. A chair was next to the table, and Artanis sat down on it. She could feel tears of relief forming in her eyes. If he died, she didn't know what she would do.

"Celeborn?" she said softly, hoping not to wake him if he really was sleeping.

He stirred and opened his cloudy eyes. "Artanis…"

She smiled and placed her hand on his arm. "Did I wake you?" she asked.

"Yes; from one dream into another infinitely more wonderful," he replied. He tried to sit up, then winced and placed his hand over the bandages on his chest.

"Hold still," she told him, putting her other hand on his chest and gently, but firmly pushing him back down. "You need to rest."

"I have been resting all night, Artanis," he said.

"Well, rest some more."

He smiled and gave no verbal reply.

She noticed that some of his hair had fallen across his face. As she reached up to brush it aside, it occurred to her that Navarië had been standing over him like this all night, and she was unable to suppress a pang of jealousy. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"As fine as anyone would be in my circumstance, I suppose," he answered. "Ambushed by orcs, shot through with arrows, nearly killed… strange, how some things simply refuse to change."

His ability to find the humor in the situation made her smile. "I am glad you're alive."

"So am I," he said. "When the orcs attacked us, I thought I'd never s- that I'd never be near you again."

He couldn't believe he had nearly made a reference to sight. Of course he'd never see her again. How could he see her again when he had never seen her to begin with?

Artanis noticed his slip and wish he hadn't corrected himself; she knew what he meant, and it was such a common saying that it wasn't consciously associated with vision anymore. Blindness, however, _wasn't_ common. Being around Celeborn was difficult sometimes, but always worthwhile.

"Your injury is on the other side, is it not?" she asked, leaning over him to get a better look at the wounds on his left side.

"Yes," he said. He paused for a moment, then added, "Is it bad?"

A few strands of her hair had worked their way out of the braid she had it pulled back in, but she ignored them. "Yes," she admitted, "but the work Navarië has done on you is remarkable." However ambivalent her feelings toward Navarië were at the moment, Artanis could not deny that the woman was talented when it came to the art of healing.

"What is that?" Celeborn asked as he felt the tickle of something brushing lightly against his skin.

"Oh," Artanis said, tucking the renegade strands behind her ear. She was surprised at how sensitive his sense of touch was; if it had been her, she probably wouldn't have felt the hair. Perhaps he concentrated more on his other senses to make up for the one he'd lost. "That was my hair."

"Your hair…" he said softly. "Is it really as beautiful as they say?"

She wasn't entirely sure how to answer that question without sounding conceited. After spending a few moments in thought, she came up with, "I have been told that it is."

He smiled. "Lúthien has described it to me, but she admits that it is beyond words; golden as the sun, but touched with moonlight as well."

"Yes," Artanis said. "It is because of my lineage. My mother is Eärwen of the Teleri, and my father's mother is Indis of the Vanyar."

"And yet you and your brothers are counted among the Noldor, though by blood you are more closely related to my people."

"We are the children of the house of Finwë, High King of the Noldor," Artanis said. She noticed the indignant tone of her voice too late and cringed. Hopefully Celeborn wouldn't notice.

If he did notice, he didn't take offense. "You have the blood of the Three Kindreds," he said. "The melodic voice of the Teleri… the strength and spirit of the Noldor… the grace and beauty of the Vanyar…"

She chuckled. "I am no more beautiful than any other of the Eldar." That wasn't true; she was considered the fairest of the house of Finwë, but how would he know? Too long had her beauty attracted unwanted attention. The fact that he could not judge for himself on it was one of the many things that drew her to Celeborn. "And you have seen Lúthien," she continued. "She is far more beautiful than I."

"Of the sun and the moon, which would you say is the more beautiful?"

That was a difficult question. She held them both in equal reverence. After a few moments in thought, she gave him an answer. "The sun." Both its fire and its pilot were closer to her heart than Tilion and the soft silver light of the moon.

"But do you not still look upon the moon and think it beautiful, too?"

Artanis laughed. "Your riddles have me at a loss for words, Celeborn."

"I have stumped the Lady Artanis. This news must be announced to the world."

She laughed again, and he smiled. He had long been able to perceive the sorrows that rested on her heart, and it brought him joy to feel them lifted, if only for a short time. He wished it were possible for him to always be with her and do his part in easing her pain, if only as her friend. A shadow descended upon his own heart then as he realized that this would likely be his fate, doomed to love her from a distance as Daeron loved Lúthien. Someday, he knew, Lúthien would find love, and it would not be in Daeron. What hope did he have for Artanis?

"Celeborn?" she said, taking notice of his sudden mood swing. "Are you all right?"

"Of course," he said dismissively.

"Perhaps I should leave," Artanis said. "You need your rest."

"No!" he exclaimed, finding her arm with the hand nearest to her. "Please… if you can, please stay."

She smiled and took his hand in hers. "I will stay as long as you wish me to."

"Oh?" said Celeborn. "Then perhaps you should let the others know that you are now my prisoner and I have no intent of releasing you. Ever."

The sound of her laughter filled his ears once again, and he smiled. Even her laugh was beautiful. If he could look upon her with his own eyes just once, for an instant, he would be content to be blind for the rest of his life.

He could still feel traces of her hair on his skin. It was soft and light, even warm in its own way, like it wasn't hair at all, but sunlight incarnated. He could only imagine its beauty, but Celeborn had a very good imagination.

"What is it now?" Artanis asked.

_How does she DO that_, he wondered. "Your hair again," he said. "It's very… interesting."

She chuckled. "I do not believe anyone has ever called my hair 'interesting,' Celeborn."

"Well, those of us who cannot judge for ourselves must think of ways to make up for it."

Artanis reached with one hand and awkwardly unbraided her hair. It fell down around her shoulders like a waterfall of sunlight, and she smiled. She didn't like wearing her hair up. With the hand that held his, she gently lifted his arm and guided his fingers over the golden spirals. "Judge."

He gasped as his hand became immersed in the strands. "I… I have never felt anything like it," he said. "You are truly a woman crowned in radiance, Artanis."

"A woman crowned in radiance," she repeated, and chuckled. "I like that."

"You do?" Celeborn said. "Then I name you Galadriel, for you shall always be such to me."

"Galadriel." She liked the name. She liked the way it sounded, the way his Sindarin accent drew out the second syllable, and above all, the one who gave it to her. "Yes. Galadriel."

"You like it?"

"I do," she said. "Henceforth I shall be known as Galadriel. No longer shall I answer to any other name, for this is most beautiful of my names, and it was given to me by you, Celeborn of Doriath. And that is the greatest honor of all."

* * *

Finrod, wondering what was keeping his sister, decided it would probably be a good idea to go into the tent and find out for himself. He pushed back the flap over entrance, not making a sound so as not to disturb Celeborn if he were sleeping, and leaned his head inside. His sister was seated next to Celeborn, who was lying on the table, and both were motionless. Finrod did not think anything of it until he noticed something highly unusual.

Celeborn was touching her hair.

Finrod stumbled backwards, and the flap fell back into place. His sister was known for being finicky, even neurotic about who could and couldn't touch her hair, and the honor was rarely extended outside their immediate family. If Celeborn was touching her hair, it could only mean one thing.

And Finrod wasn't sure he liked it.

* * *

Swords for my reviewers: Bluebunny, Miria, and Morelen! Hope you're all enjoying!


	11. Big Brother's Words of Wisdom

A/N: Wow, ain't fan fiction great… you completely ignore a story for six months, then write an entire chapter in one sitting. While desperately searching for a way home because your flight was cancelled. And while repeatedly listening to the theme from Top Gun and a techno remix of the Braveheart theme. Sleep deprivation can be so much fun.

I guess this is the part where I suddenly become very interested in the floor and mumble an apology about taking so long to write this chapter. I've got more than writer's _block_; I've got a whole Lego set. Hopefully I'll be able to accomplish more in the world of fan fiction over the three weeks Christmas break than I did in the half-year since my last update. In other news, Freelancer-the-astrophysics-major did freakishly well in her classes this semester, which is one of the reasons she didn't write. (97.5 test average in Calculus III!! BOO-YA!!)

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Big Brother's Words of Wisdom**

* * *

At dawn the next day, the ships departed, taking the Sindar, Finrod, and his sister back to Menegroth. Fingolfin, Maedhros, and the other Noldor remained in the pass to keep it occupied until Finrod could assume control. Finrod had already begun to formulate his plans for constructing a stronghold in the pass, and he wanted King Thingol's opinion of them before beginning construction. Finrod knew they had a very strong potential ally in Doriath, and he wanted to give something back to the Sindar as a show of gratitude for all they had done for him and his kin thus far. Combining forces would certainly be beneficial to both parties; in return for aiding Finrod in the construction and occupation of a fortress in the Pass of Sirion, the Noldor would have a critical point from which to launch their attacks on Angbad, and Thingol's people would have further defense against the evil of Morgoth. Finrod was sure than when he presented the logistics of this plan to Thingol, Doriath's king would agree to this alliance.

_And if not this way_, Finrod mused as he pondered his plans in the main cabin of the largest ship, _there are other ways of forming treaties_.

That in mind, his thoughts turned to his sister. He had not had a chance to speak to her yet – he'd been too busy with plans for the occupation of Tol Sirion – but it was a good two days' voyage now to Menegroth. He could afford a few minutes to express his concerns to her and get an idea as to what he'd witnessed yesterday was leading to. Hopefully she would view Doriath – and Celeborn – as politically, no, _sensibly_ as he did.

Finrod did not have to look far. She loved water and boats, and he found her on the ship's prow, watching the waves as they splashed against the hull. The wind was whipping her golden hair and green traveling cloak all around her frame, but she seemed to neither notice nor care. She was so absorbed in her surroundings that she didn't even notice him come up beside her.

"Artanis," Finrod said as he approached, "we must talk."

She was unaffected by his serious tone, and when she turned to face him, her face and smile were more radiant than they had been at any point during their exile. "Oh, Finrod," she said, "I am so happy. The battle is won, and-"

"We must talk," he repeated, cutting her off. "This is a matter of great concern to me, Artanis."

Her smile did not waver. "Of course, brother," she said. "And please, I must ask that you no longer call me by that name. Another name has been given to me, and it is my wish to be known by this one."

"A new name?" he said suspiciously. "What might this new name be?"

She told him.

"Galadriel," Finrod repeated. He reflected on it a moment before offering his opinion. "It _is_ a beautiful name, but I cannot see why you would rather be called Galadriel than remain Artanis, daughter of Finarfin, princess of the Noldor-"

"It is my choice," Galadriel said simply. "Furthermore, if we are to become part of this land, it is only fitting that I take a name in the Sindarin tongue. I would hope that you would honor my decision."

Finrod was beginning to get annoyed. This was not the subject he wished to speak with her about, and he could not understand her logic. "'Honor your decision'?" he repeated. "You are changing your name. What do you want me to say, 'Congratulations'? Like you are having a child? 'Congratulations, you are having a new name.'?"

Galadriel rolled her eyes. "Finrod-"

"Who is the father of this new name?" Finrod continued, unable to stop his sarcastic landslide. "I knew the father of the old one – he's the king of the Noldor!"

She waited a moment to see if he was finished, then said, "If you must know, the 'father of this new name' is Celeborn."

"Which brings me to why I came here," said Finrod, his tone dropping in severity. "Arta – _Galadriel_, recently, I have noticed that you and Celeborn have become rather… _attached_ to each other, and-"

"I am fond of him, yes," she admitted. "And this is a matter of concern?"

"Of _substantial_ concern," her brother replied. He placed a hand on her arm. "Dear sister, you certainly know that I love you and only want your happiness. I just do not believe the happiness you seek can be found in Celeborn."

"What do you mean, Finrod?" the mystified Galadriel asked.

"I saw the two of you yesterday morning," said Finrod. "It was by accident – I was only passing by – but what I saw aroused a great deal of confusion and concern in me. He was touching your hair."

Galadriel suddenly looked very guilty. Her fingers caught a lock of hair that had been blown their way by the wind and began to twirl it.

Finrod continued. "I have not mentioned this to anyone else because they would certainly think me foolish for being troubled, but they don't know you like I do. All your life, you have _obsessively_ prevented anyone outside our immediate family, save for Amarië…" His voice broke slightly at saying the name of the love he'd left behind, and he had to collect himself before he could go on. "Save for Amarië, from touching your hair. Not even Fëanor."

_Fëanor__ can burn_, Galadriel thought. "And it raises concern in you that I would allow Celeborn this privilege?"

"Yes," Finrod said simply. "I was not aware that he obtained such status in your life so soon after meeting him."

"What are you implying, Finrod?"

"What are _you_, Galadriel?"

"Does it _matter_?" she cried. Any trace of joy was now gone, and in her eyes danced a sad desperation. "Whether I love him or hate him, it makes no difference. I cannot hope for anything more than our friendship. He is too far above me."

Finrod could not believe his ears. "How can you say this?" he said. "You are of the most noble bloodline in Valinor, and he is a blind Sinda!"

"We are not _in_ Valinor anymore, Finrod!" said Galadriel. "Our bloodlines mean nothing here! And that 'blind Sinda' is a prince of the greatest kingdom in this land! He lowers himself by even considering me a _friend_!"

Finrod knew she was right, just as his suspicions were. "Anyone can see you greatly care for each other," he said gently. "But is it really the best thing for either of you? Suppose you and Celeborn were married."

Galadriel opened her mouth to protest, but Finrod held up his hand, signaling for her silence. She complied.

"Hear me out," Finrod said, lowering his hand. "Supose you and Celeborn were married. By marrying above your station instead of below, you are surrendering authority to him. Your spirit is far too strong to allow that. Your lives would be bitter, cold, and power-hungry, not like if you found someone who could not claim any authority over you. Regardless of how you may feel now, the two of you, logically, could not be more wrong for each other."

She closed her eyes.

"Artanis…"

"Galadriel."

"Galadriel. Listen to me," said Finrod. "Temporary unhappiness now will save you from a lifetime of it."

"You assume too much, Finrod," said Galadriel with a degree of coolness. She stepped away from the prow. "If I feel anything more than friendship for Celeborn, it is pity." She then turned around and proceeded to go below deck.

Finrod smiled, knowing that she was already taking his advice.

* * *

Now that he'd talked some sense into his sister, Finrod decided now would be as good a time as any to approach the other half of this inconvenience: Celeborn. He knew the prince would be resting, but it was unlikely that he would be asleep, so Finrod didn't feel incredibly guilty about going to Celeborn at this time. What he _did_ feel a little guilty about, though, was what he was going to tell Celeborn. In retrospect, Finrod knew what he'd said to Galadriel probably wasn't the right thing; it was the truth, but it was not the best time to bring it or, nor the right way to put it. Finrod pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind as he approached Celeborn's cabin. Finrod cared about the people in his life, and if it meant coming straight out with his concerns, no matter how blunt they may be, would protect them in the long run.

_Someday you'll thank me, Artanis_, Finrod thought as he knocked on the door to Celeborn's cabin.

A familiar Sindarin voice bade him enter. Finrod came inside, and saw Celeborn lying down in the bed, but awake. _Just as I suspected_. "Good morning, Prince Celeborn."

"Good morning, Finrod," Celeborn replied, recognizing the voice at once. "May I help you?"

Finrod spied a chair near the bed and sat down. "I spoke to my sister a few moments ago. She says you have given her a new name."

"Yes, Galadriel," he confirmed. "I felt her hair yesterday, and it was like nothing I have ever touched before."

"It is like nothing nearly anyone has touched before," said Finrod, "because she has only ever let one other person aside from our parents and brothers touch it. Respectfully, Prince Celeborn, I do not believe you understand the magnitude of this seemingly simple gesture."

Celeborn did not, and admitted it freely. Then he asked what it meant.

"I believe," Finrod said quietly, "that my sister is in love with you."

Celeborn did not breathe until his lungs began burning from lack of air.

"Finrod," the Sindarin prince said, "how… _certain_ are you of this?"

"Very certain," was Finrod's answer. "I will not ask you how you feel about her, but I felt I should bring at least that much to your attention. And please allow me to repeat to you what I have said to her: I know you are fond of Artanis, but if anything more were to become from your friendship, it would cause you nothing but pain. She is far too headstrong to marry someone above her station, and the two of you would constantly be at odds."

Celeborn blinked several times, and with each blink, his expression grew more and more perplexed. "Finrod, are you implying that I am 'too good' for your sister?"

"I am not implying, I am stating it outright," said Finrod.

"Do not say such things," said Celeborn. "I am blind-"

"A prince of Doriath-"

"And young enough to be her son," Celeborn finished, his voice quavering slightly. That statistic had bothered him ever since Galadriel guessed his age not long after they first met. Although an age difference like theirs would seem trivial in many years, right now, his one hundred years to her one thousand was a matter of great seriousness.

"Yes," Finrod admitted quietly. "Yes, you are still very young."

"But I have also endured more in my one hundred years than many do in ten thousand," Celeborn said, his voice regaining its confidence. "Finrod, I understand where you are coming from and why you have told me these things. Now it is my turn."

Finrod blinked, shook his head, and stared at Celeborn. "Your turn?"

"I am the oldest of my brothers as well," Celeborn began. "I do not have a sister, so I cannot fully understand the level of protectiveness you must feel for her, but Lúthien is like a sister to me, and I am very protective of the brothers of my blood. You have left your father and led your brothers and sister into a strange land, and you feel as though you must be a father as well as a brother to them. My father has been dead for fifty years. That is half my life. Like you, I feel that I must sometimes be a father to my brothers. At first, I felt it was my duty to protect them all the time, to make sure no harm came to them, and to never need their help in return." He paused, took several deep breaths, and continued in a softer voice. "And then Uncómien saved my life. If it were not for my youngest brother, I would not be alive."

It would be many years before Finrod would realize the full impact of Celeborn's words, but he was realizing a considerable amount as it was. "You think I was wrong to advise a course of action on your feelings for each other."

"No," said Celeborn. "Your only meaning in this action was to protect her, and, I suspect, to protect me. Exactly as I would have done."

"Exactly as you would have done?" Finrod didn't understand.

Celeborn nodded. "Yes. Exactly, in the interest of his own safety, as I would have told Uncómien not to risk his own life on the off-chance that he could have saved mine."

At that moment, Finrod swore to himself to never again question Celeborn or Galadriel and to never doubt or interfere with their obvious, unfathomable love for each other again.

* * *

A/N: I didn't _mean_ for Finrod to be such a bigot in this chapter; it just kind of happened that way. (And admit it… that "who is the father of this new name" thing may have been out of character, but it was freaking funny.) I did like Celeborn's little speech at the end there though. Poor guy, being forced to grow up so fast.

Copies of Dr. Thomas's old tests to study off for my reviewers: Melkor, AngelQueen, Aenigmatic, Galorin, Arinya, Morelen, Bluebunny, chocchip, Nathalia Potter, gazebo, Celadriel, Dragon Confused, melian, and Tuxedo Elf. May you all get A's in calculus as I did.


	12. A Simple Misunderstanding

**Chapter Twelve: A Simple Misunderstanding**

* * *

Melian insisted on examining Celeborn upon the travelers' return to Doriath, and none contested her wishes. One of the Valar she'd served was Estë the Healer, and Melian's knowledge of the healing arts was surpassed by none outside of Valinor – and few within it. After a few minutes, though, her desperation had dimmed. She could see that his injuries were severe, but also that the treatment he'd received for them was excellent and that there was nothing more that needed to be done.

"Your Healer is very gifted," Melian said to Finrod and Galadriel when she emerged from looking at Celeborn.

"Turgon told me she was trained by Envinyanta," Finrod said, knowing Melian would recognize the name.

"Estë's chief Maia," said Melian almost wistfully. "It is no wonder she was able to save him then. She must be very talented to have been chosen by Envinyanta."

Galadriel couldn't help wondering if they would ever stop talking about Navarië. True, she was skilled, not to mention kind and more than a little attractive, but did she merit everything short of having a ballad written about her? Navarië wouldn't have even had the _chance_ so save Celeborn if it had not been for Finrod, Valendil, Saeros, Turgon, and Galadriel, or the two fallen Noldorin guards who had undoubtedly done enough damage to the attacking Orcs that they could not achieve their ultimate goal. Galadriel was grateful, of course, but enough was enough.

King Elu Thingol was pleased to hear that the battle was a success, and he agreed to help Finrod build his fortress. He also had a reaction similar to Finrod's at Galadriel's name change, but unlike Finrod, Thingol kept his thoughts to himself. Like most, he'd noticed that his nephew and the Noldorin woman had been growing closer and more affectionate, and he had mixed feelings about it. As a ruler, Thingol was obligated to view one side of everything as political, and politically, Celeborn and Galadriel were an excellent match. He was a prince of his people, and she was a descendant of kings. Besides, a union between the Noldor and Sindar would be practical with the Noldor amassing so much power. Thingol knew there were drawbacks to this as well. If an alliance of any sort existed, especially in the form of a marriage between Celeborn and Galadriel, Doriath would be obligated to aid in the struggle against Morgoth. It was not Doriath's war. Though the shadow of Morgoth loomed over them as it did the entire world, it was not an immediate threat to their existence. However, they would both be stronger with each others' help, and if they worked together, they would have greater hope of driving Morgoth out of Beleriand forever.

And then there was the personal side. Celeborn was like a son to Thingol, and the king desired his happiness. The greater good of Doriath had to come before the needs of any one person, but Thingol would never do anything that would cause someone misery so that the rest of the country might receive joy; in his mind, there was always another way, and he'd not yet been faced with that choice. It was likely that if Celeborn and Galadriel married, Doriath would not suffer nor benefit any differently than they would otherwise, and if they did, gains and losses would equal out in the end.

So Thingol began to wonder if Celeborn and Galadriel would be _happy_ together. Thingol was deeply in love with his queen, and he wished the same happiness on the son of his heart. Even before being blinded, Celeborn had been quiet, pensive, and slow to anger; a deep, yet quick thinker who always put the needs of his people first. At first glance, it seemed as though these traits would clash with Galadriel's obvious ambition and pride, but as the king thought about it, he realized that if this was going to affect them, it already would have. They could be just what the other needed. Thingol knew Celeborn would made an excellent ruler and that it was unlikely he would ever gain rule of Doriath; Lúthien and the children she would have someday would inherit the throne when it was Thingol's time to step down. Would ruling a realm alongside Galadriel be the right path for Celeborn? What part would his affliction play in deciding what choice to make? And could they love each other enough to last through the hardships of lovers _and_ leaders? There were so many questions, and Thingol was not sure they could be answered.

Celeborn, meanwhile, could not get thoughts of a certain woman out of his head.

* * *

Celeborn was in the garden with Daeron, resting under the cool shade of a willow tree. Daeron was tuning his harp and listening to Celeborn's account of the Battle of Tol Sirion, wondering if he could turn it into a ballad. Then Celeborn mentioned a name Daeron did not recognize, and his interest abandoned the harp completely in favor of his companion's tale. "Go on," the minstrel urged. "Preferably about _her_."

"Oh, Daeron, where do I begin?" Celeborn asked. "She was there at my most critical hour, and though there were times when I doubted my survival, she never did. Her touch is magic, and her voice… as soon as I heard it, I knew I would live."

Daeron plucked a few strings on the harp, then adjusted one of them. "There are few things as magical as the presence of a woman."

_He should know_, Celeborn thought. _He's hopelessly in love with the greatest woman of our kind_. Somehow Celeborn felt this would be his fate as well.

Daeron strummed the harp, then frowned. There was still a pitch that did not sound quite right.

"Harp trouble?" Celeborn asked.

"Yes," Daeron replied as he tightened the offending string. "I was playing for Lúthien earlier today and a string broke."

"Where _is_ Lúthien?"

"She whisked your Noldorin princess off shortly after the queen finished examining you," the minstrel said. "I do not believe you had come out yet. Undoubtedly she wished to hear the tale from another point of view." He plucked the problem string and smiled. Daeron was a perfectionist, and though the before and after pitches of the harp might have sounded the same to anyone else, to him, they were a world apart. "Perhaps I should do the same; it should help in the composition of this ballad."

* * *

Daeron's guess as to Lúthien's intentions was nothing short of correct. The princess had indeed immediately sought out Galadriel and asked about the battle from her perspective. In the quiet of Lúthien's study, the still disgruntled Galadriel gave Lúthien the abridged version – leaving out the details behind her name change – and then tried to change the subject to the happenings in Menegroth. Lúthien, however, was not going to be fooled.

"You haven't told me why your name was Artanis when you left and Galadriel when you returned," Thingol's daughter pressed.

"I thought it would be wise to take a name in the Sindarin tongue, since my brothers and I are to be living among your people," Galadriel answered.

"Then you are staying in Doriath?" Lúthien said, her tone indicating that it was not a question.

"No," said Galadriel. "Once Finrod builds his fortress at Tol Sirion, we will certainly relocate there until a more permanent settlement can be established. Turgon has asked us to come to Nevrast, but I would not like to be there." What would they find in Nevrast? A neverending tribute to Navarië, undoubtedly. It was the last place Galadriel wanted to be.

"But then you would be living among your own people, so why take a Sindarin name?" inquired Lúthien.

Galadriel should have known there would be no fooling Lúthien. "My name was a gift," she quietly confessed. "Celeborn named me while recovering from the attack."

"It is a beautiful name," said Lúthien. "And very fitting." She began to extend her hand, then retracted it and said, "May I?"

Galadriel nodded. "Yes." She could feel a friendship with Lúthien much like the one she'd had with Amarië forming, and the idea of letting Lúthien touch her hair did not bother her. _Perhaps Finrod will walk by and think I'm in love with Lúthien, too_, she thought bitterly. The nerve of her brother was beginning to bother her; getting her hopes up about Celeborn when he obviously did not love her.

Lúthien touched her fingertips to a section near Galadriel's right shoulder and pulled her hand away almost immediately. "I have never felt anything like it."

Galadriel sighed and tucked her hair behind her ears. "That is exactly what Celeborn said."

A look of concern crossed Lúthien's beautiful face, and she placed her hand on her friend's arm. "Galadriel, is everything all right between you and Celeborn?" she asked. "Every time you or I mention him, you get that look on your face."

"What look?" Galadriel asked, even though she knew exactly what Lúthien was talking about.

"_That_ one," said Lúthien. "Somewhere between angry and sad."

Galadriel stared at the marble floor of the study. "I cannot explain it, Lúthien," she began. "The world can be a strange, confusing, and horrible place, but when I am with Celeborn, it is never that way. I was so afraid before the battle began that we were walking to our deaths, but he assured me that we would be victorious. It has been that way every time I've sought his council. His mere presence calms and comforts me."

She looked up at Lúthien, and felt a sting in her eyes and a lump in her throat. "I didn't want to believe it, Lúthien, but I cannot hide it any longer. I love him. I love him. _Ni melmë sen ar ni áva ista man_…" She fell into her native Quenya as a flood of tears came and was unable to finish the thought before incoherence took her. Her hands went over her face and her body began shaking as she fought the losing battle to keep her emotions inside.

Lúthien knew Quenya – Melian had taught her – and the other woman's change in language effectively went unnoticed. She wrapped her arms around Galadriel and whispered a few comforting words in the tongue of Valinor. The words had the effect Lúthien was hoping for, and Galadriel stopped shaking and wept freely. "What you should do," Lúthien gently advised, "is tell him."

Galadriel lifted her wet face and looked at Lúthien. Her tears emphasized the blue of her eyes, and they looked more brilliant than Lúthien had ever seen. "I cannot tell him, Lúthien," she said, reverting back to the common language. "He cannot possibly feel as I do, and it would destroy our friendship. I refuse to risk that for an impossible chance."

_These Noldor are so stubborn_, Lúthien thought. She knew her father and Celeborn could have equally strong wills when called upon, and that she could seldom be deterred if she set her mind to something, but at least the Sindar could be reasonable. "You don't _know_ that," she said. "I honestly believe that he could, Galadriel, and that he _does_, but he is so afraid of losing you that he would never admit it unless you did first."

"Then there is _another_ thing Celeborn and I have in common," said Galadriel.

"Galadriel, _please_," Lúthien pressed. "You must _take_ a chance in order to _get_ one."

"But I have so much to lose."

"More than you have to gain?"

* * *

Daeron was having a similar conversation with Celeborn in the garden.

"You _must_ tell her how you feel," Daeron said, having gotten Celeborn to admit that he harbored rather strong feelings for the woman he mentioned earlier. "Otherwise you will _never_ have the chance you long for."

_I do not feel you are the right one to tell me nothing ventured, nothing gained_, Celeborn thought. "Daeron, be reasonable," he said instead, knowing it would be next to impossible to get the hopelessly romantic minstrel to drop the topic no matter what. "I am in no position to expect a woman to love me – _any _woman, let alone a woman like her."

"Celeborn, you are a prince of Doriath. The only woman you could never hope to love you is Lúthien, and only because you are too closely related."

"My blood and title is meaningless," said Celeborn. He sighed and rested his forehead on his hand. "She deserves a man who can see her."

Daeron did not know what to say to that.

* * *

"He is in the garden with Daeron," Lúthien said, pulling Galadriel to her feet. "Let us go there. I will speak to Celeborn on your behalf and discover the truth once and for all."

"No-" Galadriel began.

Lúthien was already dragging her out of the room. "You may thank me later."

Daeron's ears perked up at the sound of footsteps on the soft grass. "Someone's coming," he said. He looked through the low-hanging boughs of the willow trees and cherry blossoms and smiled when he saw a dark head that could not possibly belong to anyone else. "Lúthien…"

"Go to her," said Celeborn miserably. "I do not want anyone to see me like this."

Daeron set his harp down on the grass and wove his way through the branches, intercepting Lúthien and her Noldorin companion about twenty feet later. "Lúthien, Artanis, so good to see you," the minstrel said.

Lúthien was so set in her task that she did not take the time to correct Daeron on Galadriel's change of name. "Daeron, is Celeborn all right?" she asked, catching a glimpse of her cousin though the trees.

Daeron sighed and shook his head. "I am afraid not, my lady," he said. "He is in love with the woman who saved his life and refuses to tell her so."

Lúthien managed to hide her gasp, but Galadriel could not. Lúthien forced herself to look at Galadriel, who had a look of horror on her proud face. "I've heard enough," Galadriel said, then turned and fled the garden. Lúthien made no attempt to stop her or follow.

Lúthien spent a moment in woeful contemplation, then whirled around and seized Daeron's arm. "Daeron," she said, "did Celeborn say _who_ he loved? Did he give you a _name_?"

"Yes," Daeron answered. "A Noldorin woman called Galadriel."

"Oh no," Lúthien moaned, letting go of Daeron and sinking to her knees. "I have been such a fool, Daeron."

"I don't understand," Daeron said, kneeling down next to her.

Lúthien only had to tell him half the story before he understood, and when it hit him, he felt even worse. "We must tell them, Lúthien!" he said. "We _know_ the truth, and their own stubbornness is the only thing standing in the way!"

"No, Daeron," Lúthien replied. "We have interfered enough. The truth must be theirs and theirs alone to unveil." She sighed, glanced over her shoulder at the path Galadriel took to escape the garden, and then looked to her blind cousin sitting alone with Daeron's harp. "We owe it to them."

* * *

I wanted to have this chapter finished yesterday, which was the story's 1-year birthday, and probably could have if a sudden obsession to beat this one level in Tomb Raider II hadn't crept up on me, but… yeah. I also intended it to have a happy ending, but what do you know, that didn't happen either. Next time, I promise. :o) (I beat the level by the way - go me!)

Quenya translation: I love him and I don't know what...

Candy canes for my reviewers: Celadriel, morelen, Nathalia Potter, Marnie, Tuxedo Elf, Arinya, and Ellfine. Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and all that jazz!


	13. Something More

**Chapter Thirteen: Something More**

**

* * *

**

A month passed, and with it came the first chill of late fall. Plans for the construction of a tower in the Pass of Sirion were nearly complete. Finrod and Thingol had reached an agreement that was mutually beneficial. Doriath would supply architects and access to all of their land's plentiful natural resources, and the Noldor would provide labor and the rest of the construction materials. The Noldor would have full control of the fortress, and there would be no ambassador from Doriath present, but the tower had to always be in the keeping of a child of the house of Finarfin and therefore a blood relative of Elu Thingol, and they had to provide aid to the Sindar if it was needed. Aegnor, Angrod, and Orodreth left with a few other members of their race to carry news of this message to the other leaders among the Noldor: Fingolfin, Turgon, and Maglor. They had only good news upon their return, and that workers were ready when needed.

Finrod wanted to leave as soon as possible to begin work on the tower. If they began immediately, the lower levels could be constructed in time to provide them with shelter for the winter and give them time to finish their designs. He wanted Galadriel to accompany himself and their brothers to the pass, but she wasn't so sure she wanted to leave Doriath for as long as their stay promised to be.

In the month that had gone by since their return from the battle, Galadriel's initial anger over learning where Celeborn's heart truly lied had faded into a numb acceptance and a determination to not lose the friend she found in him when first arriving in Thingol's kingdom. She even found herself considering his brother once – Uncómien, as Galathil appeared to harbor feelings for the daughter of one of Thingol's advisors – but that idea soon left her. Uncómien was very handsome and made her laugh like none other could, but if Celeborn was too young for her, Uncómien was half his age, and besides, there was something about him that just… wasn't Celeborn. No matter how much she wished it, he, or anyone else, would never take his brother's place in her heart.

Celeborn and Galadriel's friendship was impaired by the awkwardness that exists when two people are in love and all can see it but them, but they managed to make the other believe there was nothing wrong. They remained close and were often seen together. Lúthien remained true to her vow to not interfere with their relationship, and she reminded everyone close to them – Daeron, Finrod, Celeborn's brothers – to do the same. The young, headstrong Uncómien was the most difficult to convince, but her powers of persuasion eventually silenced him. Not even_ he_ could refuse Lúthien.

Galadriel was a bit angry at Lúthien initially for pushing her to come clean about her feelings for Celeborn, but these emotions soon faded. She could see that Lúthien was very sorry, and there was no way she could have known that Celeborn had unexpectedly fallen in love with his savior while they were away from Doriath. Besides, her friendship with Lúthien, just like her friendship with Celeborn, was too valuable to lose over a misunderstanding.

Everyone in Doriath was interested in the battle, but there was one person who was more interested in a certain aspect of it than anyone else: Uncómien and the attack on Celeborn. By all others, even Celeborn, it was dismissed as just a terrible coincidence; there was no way they could have known Orcs were in the area and that it could have happened to anyone else. Uncómien did not believe it. He believed that the Orcs had a target, and that their target was Celeborn. But _why_? Uncómien did not know, but he planned to find out.

* * *

Uncómien was doing target practice one sunless afternoon when the two other soldiers on patrol with him, Galathil and Atarus, decided to join him. Shooting arrows at targets, however, was not the true intention of the newcomers. Galathil had grown concerned about his young brother lately, and he wanted to rid Uncómien of his obsession over the attack on Celeborn. It had upset Galathil as well, but should they not be grateful that their brother lived rather than angry that it happened, when it could have happened to anyone and it would be far worse for the armies if he did _not_ go at all?

"Mae govannen, Galathil." Uncómien was fitting an arrow to the string of his bow when he saw Galathil and Atarus approaching. Galathil had a look of urgency on his face, and Uncómien guessed his intentions. It was not a topic he wanted to discuss.

"We need to talk, Uncómien," Galathil said.

Uncómien let the arrow fly. It sailed through the air and hit the center of a target on a post fifty feet away. "How do you like the border patrol, Atarus?"

Atarus was the new recruit, having joined the squad only a few short weeks ago. Having the attention suddenly shifted to him made him uncomfortable, and he stammered, "I… I am proud to do my duty to Doriath, Liutenant Uncómien, my lord."

"Uncómien," Galathil said sternly.

The young lieutenant pulled another arrow from his quiver and twirled it between his fingers. "Yes?" he said innocently.

"This is important, brother," Galathil pressed. "Your obsession over Celeborn's accident-"

"Celeborn has had far too many 'accidents' in his day." Uncómien shot the arrow at the target, and it split the shaft of the first arrow in two.

"Excellent shot, my lord," Atarus said.

"Thank you, recruit."

Atarus beamed.

"You're being unreasonable," Galathil continued. "How could the Orcs have _known_ it was Celeborn and attacked only because of that?"

Uncómien pointed his next arrow at his brother before fitting it to the string. "_Precisely_ what I would like to know." He released the arrow, and it hit the target just above the first two arrows.

Galathil could see that this was going nowhere. "If you will not yield to my advice, at least tell me why you believe this."

Uncómien stared his brother down for a moment, then lowered his bow. "Atarus."

The recruit snapped to attention. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Please fetch the arrows," said Uncómien. "One arrow missed the target and is some distance away. Take your time."

"Yes, Lieutenant!" Pleased to be recognized by the border patrol's second-in-command, Atarus set to his task with a smile on his face.

"You didn't really miss the target, did you?" Galathil asked when Atarus was a safe distance away. He didn't believe it; Uncómien was too good of a shot.

"No, but Irisun did two days ago, and we never found the arrow," Uncómien replied. "It should keep him occupied."

Galathil could not help smiling a little at his brother's deception, but the smile faded when he got to the point. "Tell me what is on your mind."

Uncómien sighed and picked his bow up again. "I think someone's trying to kill Celeborn."

Galathil could not believe his ears. "_Why_?"

"Jealousy, power struggle, a grudge against our father, his proximity to the king, believe me, Galathil, there are many reasons."

"You don't think…" Galathil almost couldn't bring himself to the thought. "You don't think the Noldor are behind it, are you?"

Uncómien reached for another arrow. "No," he said. "In fact, if it weren't for them, I think he _would_ be dead." He fitted the arrow to the string of his bow and pulled his arm back. "I think someone has been trying to kill him for thirty years."

"Uncómien…"

He fired the arrow. "Lúthien agrees with me. How is it a _coincidence_ that an arrow touched by the hand of Enemy found his eyes? I doubt Morgoth would take the time to personally give every single arrow his blessing."

"But who would _do_ such a thing?" Galathil asked. "Who would betray his captain and country?"

"I think it was Aranesen," Uncómien said without hesitation. "No one else hates Celeborn so much."

Uncómien's youthful brashness was beginning to make Galathil angry. "No one else hates _you_ so much," he corrected.

"He left Celeborn for dead!" Uncómien scowled. "I should have killed him, the treacherous coward."

"Brother, you have to learn to let things go," said Galathil. "This is not going to help Celeborn."

Uncómien glared at his brother, then slung his bow over his shoulder. "You may be my older brother, but out here, _I_ outrank you," he hissed. "And a commanding officer is not pleased when his subordinates lose faith. I only hope you believe me before it's too late."

* * *

Galathil was not the only one having difficulty convincing a fiery younger sibling to be reasonable. Back in Menegroth, Orodreth was having little success with persuading Galadriel to go to Tol Sirion with the rest of their party. She insisted that she would better off remaining in Doriath, that there was more for her to do and learn, but her brothers wanted them all to stay together. Normally Finrod would take care of it, since Galadriel listened to him the most, but since he could not be torn away from his duties, the task fell to Orodreth.

He could not understand how Finrod did it.

After a good hour of searching the palace for his sister, Orodreth found her reading with Lúthien in the library. When Orodreth said he needed to speak with Galadriel, Lúthien volunteered to leave and did so before Orodreth or Galadriel could say otherwise. Galadriel immediately guessed what Orodreth was going to tell her and informed him that he was wasting his time. She had every intention of staying in Menegroth, and it was going to take some strong persuasion to change her mind.

_Where does she get it from? The rest of us are far less headstrong_, Orodreth thought as he searched for a way to convince Galadriel to go with them. Maybe she was really Fëanor's daughter and Finarfin and Eärwen adopted her. "We need you with us," he said. "We must all stay together."

"I would be of little use to you there," Galadriel argued. "Finrod will not let me work, and there will be more than enough of you acting as administrators. I would only get in the way."

"Our people are fond of you," Orodreth replied. "Your presence will inspire them."

Galadriel had to admit that he had a point with that one; she and her siblings were celebrities among the Noldor, and if she was there, others would want to be there, too. However, the Noldor had also been frustrating her lately. They cared only for battles and land and building cities and establishing kingdoms and getting their precious Silmarils back from Morgoth. She cared about these things, too, but also about diplomacy and relationships, both political and personal. Galadriel was able to find peace with the Sindar. She was not ready to leave the first place in Beleriand that felt like home.

"I cannot bring myself to leave Doriath," she said. "This place… there is just something about it that brings me serenity. I do not want to let it go."

"But we cannot stay here, and we do not want to leave you with these strangers."

"They are not strangers!" Galadriel insisted. "They are our kinsmen!"

"Nevertheless, we barely know them," said Orodreth. "Furthermore…" He paused and glanced around the room, as if to make certain they were alone. When he continued, his voice was a whisper. "Alqualondë will not remain unknown to Elu Thingol and his people forever, and when they _do_ find out, we shall certainly be banished from Doriath. Would it not be better to depart while we are still on good terms with them?"

_Alqualondë_. Galadriel had almost forgotten about what might happen to them if the Sindar found out about the Kinslaying. Though she and her brothers fought against it, she would not blame Thingol if he renounced them along with all the other Noldor. Orodreth was right; it _would_ be better to leave like this.

"Very well," she said. "I will leave with you. You have my word."

Orodreth breathed a sigh of relief. _That was less painful than it could have been_. He hated to resort to Alqualondë, but he saw no alternative. "We leave at dawn," he said. "You are doing the right thing."

Galadriel began to make her way to the door.

"Where are you going?" her brother asked.

She placed her hand on the door handle, then looked over her shoulder. Tears sparkled in her eyes. "To say good-bye."

* * *

Galadriel was so distracted that she was not paying attention to where she was going, and consequently, five steps out of the library, she collided with the one person in Doriath who could not have seen her coming.

"Oh, Celeborn, I am so sorry," she said as she picked herself up. "Please forgive me." She took his arm and helped him up as well.

"Of course; there was no harm done," Celeborn replied. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"

She'd half hoped to find him, and now that she'd succeeded, she figured she may as well tell him now that she was leaving. "Nowhere," she answered. "And you?"

She hadn't let go of his arm. He wasn't complaining.

"Outside," he answered. "The chill in the air is quite refreshing. Care to join me?"

"I would like that." Then an idea came to her, a way to make their good-bye meaningful. "But first I must go by my room and take care of something."

"Quite all right," said Celeborn. "It's on the way."

* * *

Celeborn took her to a balcony near the top of the cliff. Sunset was well underway, and the sight of the brilliant darkening sky over the tops of Doriath's trees was breathtaking. Dark clouds were also moving in; they would be above the city by dark. "It's so beautiful," Galadriel said, moving toward the edge of the balcony.

He was a half step behind. "I do not imagine that it would compare with a Valinorean sunset, but this is one of the finest viewpoints in Doriath. When I could still see, I would come here whenever I was in Menegroth at dusk to gaze upon the sky."

_I had already left Valinor before the first sunset_, Galadriel thought sadly. Her memory of the first sunset was not a good one: Arien left them in icy darkness in a forgotten, forsaken corner of the world. She would die before she went there again. Thinking about leaving Valinor reminded her that she would soon be leaving Doriath, and it would be best to say what she needed to say and be done with it.

"This may be the last sunset I see in Doriath," she said. "My brothers are leaving for Tol Sirion tomorrow, and I will be going with them."

Celeborn looked almost as though he'd been hit. "Leaving?" he repeated. "I have heard nothing of you going with them. When will you return?"

"The decision was made only a few moments ago," Galadriel answered. "And… I do not know if we will return."

"I asked when _you_ will return."

Her heart gave a lurch. She wanted desperately to tell him the truth, about why she was really leaving, why she would likely not return, and her true feelings for him, but she dared not. There was too much to lose. "I honestly do not know, Celeborn. That is all I can say."

His hand found hers and gripped it tightly. Desperation was frozen on his face. "Please return for me," he begged. "Please."

_Why do you torment me like this?_ she thought._ You vile, innocent, horrible, beautiful creature._

How could she deny him?

"I did not want to leave at all," she confessed. "Orodreth convinced me, though, and gave him my word. I cannot yield. If I _can_ return, though, I swear that I will." The role Alqualondë played in the argument to leave Doriath, which had been so persuading when Orodreth presented it, was fading. It came down to running away, and her pride would not let her do that.

"Soon?"

"Yes," she said. "I will stay over the winter and until affairs can be put in order; four, maybe five months at most." There was nowhere in Beleriand she would rather be than in Doriath, and nowhere in Doriath she would rather be than where she was right now. She gently pulled her hands away from his and reached into her pocket for the object she'd retrieved from her room. It was time.

"I will miss you," he admitted quietly.

"And I will miss you," she said. _If only you knew how much! _"Until I return, I will give you something to help you remember me."

"I don't need anything to help me remember you," he said.

"Take this anyway," she said, and slipped the object into his hand.

He began feeling what he gave her. It was soft, silky, and slightly warm; either in its own right or due to being held by her. _Strange_, he thought, _this feels just like_...

And then it hit him.

It was a lock of her hair.

"Galadriel…" he said, awestruck by the gift. "Do… do you mean this?"

"Of course I do," she said. "After all, what better way to aid your memory than a piece of that which you named me after?"

"This… this is too great an honor," he stammered, thinking back to his conversation with Finrod on the ship about Galadriel and her hair. "I cannot accept it."

"You would deny this gift?" she asked, unable to hide her surprise. Fëanor, the greatest of the Noldor, would have been content with just one strand, and she was offering this blind Sinda an entire lock. She could practically hear Fëanor's screams of frustration all the way from the Halls of Mandos.

"If it is truly your will for me to take it…"

"This is not something I would give lightly," she said. "I will not force it upon you if you do not want-"

"No, no, no," he interrupted. "Forgive me. My surprise was too great to conceal."

"Then you will take it?"

He smiled. "I will keep it with me for the rest of my days. My only regret is that I have nothing to offer you that can equal what you have given me."

"I expect nothing from you, my lord." _All I desire from you has been given to another._

"Are you sure?" he asked, reaching toward his head and taking a section of his own silver hair between his thumb and forefinger. "I do not think it would be too much trouble for me to find someone who could help me with this…"

"The only thing I would ask of you is that you think of me at least once while we are apart."

"It will be difficult for me to think of anything else," he replied. Inside his head, Finrod's voice repeated the same line: _I believe my sister is in love with you_. Dare he wish it?

He felt her head on his shoulder, then her arms around his waist. He returned the embrace, then sighed as he reconciled himself to the fact that their relationship would never be anything more than what it was. Her friendship was dear to him, and he was not going to risk losing that for an impossible chance at something more.

"Are you all right?" she asked, letting go of him.

"Of course I am," he said. "Why would I not be?"

The next thing he knew, the warm, delicate skin of her palm was pressed against his cheek. "There is something you are not telling me," she said, and let her hand fall to his shoulder.

As if controlled by another force, his hand found her face as well. His touch was so light she could barely feel it, and her heart rate began to accelerate against her will. He traced every line, curve, and contour, from her hairline to her chin and from ear to ear. He felt the smoothness of her skin and the imagined the face it made over a frame certainly crafted by the Valar. His fingers passed over her ears, her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, her lips… and then suddenly he pulled his hand away and stepped back.

"Celeborn?" she said cautiously.

He turned his head away from her voice. "Forgive me," he said. "You are just more beautiful than I imagined." He spoke again before she had the chance to reply. "You should rest. You have a long journey tomorrow."

She could take no more of this. She had tried to abandon her love for him, to hold him only as a friend and nothing more, but he had taken her intentions and was now dangling them in front of her. "Yes, I _should_ leave," she snapped. "Navarië would be most displeased if she suspected you were being unfaithful to her!"

He turned his head toward her again, and his face bore the last expression she thought it would: confusion. "Navar- _who_?"

"You cannot fool me!" she said. "Turgon's precious Healer, who saved your life after the battle. Daeron said you told him yourself that you are in love with her!"

He wanted to say something, but could think of nothing. First he had to make sense of her words.

She turned to leave and began to walk back toward the palace.

She was at the doorway before he understood.

"Galadriel."

She turned around and glared at him. "_What_?" she spat.

"What _exactly_ did Daeron tell you?"

Tears stung her eyes. "Have you not already caused me enough pain, Celeborn?"

"_Please_."

"He said you are in love with the woman who saved your life."

Finally, it all made perfect sense: her behavior, Lúthien and Daeron's sudden lack of interest in their relationship, Finrod's actions on the ship coming back from the battle… if he wasn't so afraid of losing her, he might have rejoiced. "I have never deceived you, Galadriel, though it may appear otherwise with the partial stories of others," he began. "And I will not deceive you now. It is true, I _am_ in love with the woman who saved my life. But that woman is not Navarië."

He set down the white staff he carried throughout his waking hours and stepped away from the edge of the balcony, abandoning his only references of where he was and where he was going. "The woman I love is the one who rushed to my aid at great personal risk and remained by my side through my darkest hour," he continued. He never walked anywhere without his staff, and he was having trouble maintaining his balance as he approached her. "The hands of a skilled healer closed my wounds, but it was in knowing that you were there for me that I found the will to live. You are the woman who saved my life, and I love you."

He lost his balance on his next step and fell, but he did not hit the floor. Galadriel rushed forward and managed to drop to her knees and catch him just before impact. "I'm so sorry, Celeborn," she said. "Please forgive me!"

"Only if you say you love me, too."

"I can do better than that."

She took his face in her hands and slowly brought it toward hers. She entwined her fingers in his silky hair and then kissed him, softly and sensually. "I love you," she whispered as she slowly pulled away. "I will never stop loving you."

She more than loved him. The moment their lips touched, Galadriel knew that one day, no matter how long it took or how many tears were shed in the process, she would marry the blind prince of Doriath. Celeborn would be her husband, no matter what objections her friends of family had. She would make sure of it.

But now was not the time to make known her plans to marry him. There would be a time, but for now, she was content just to love him.

* * *

The End.

No, I'm joking. I guess now would be a good time to say that the story's a little over half finished. So I'm sorry; there's still a lot more you'll have to put up with.

I wanted to have this up yesterday for a friend's birthday, but real life (I'm horribly sick) and writer's block 2 paragraphs from the end interfered. On the plus side, this is the longest chapter yet and Uncómien was in it! I love him, he's so precocious. And Celeborn totally reminded me of my boyfriend in this chapter. Maybe it's time to go to the doctor.

Cheesecake for my reviewers: Jestana, tigersmeleth and Tuxedo Elf!


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